The Thing That Should Not Be
by Known Unknowns
Summary: When an ancient demon sets its sights on DC, it's up to Team Gibbs to stop it from bringing on the apocalypse - with the help of Team Free Will, of course. Will they be able to stop the rising tide of evil without losing one of their own?
1. Prologue: What I've Done

**_The Thing That Should Not Be_**

**Prologue: What I've Done**

_A/N: Well, it's official. I am full-blown obsessed and in love with Supernatural. So, naturally, I had to combine it with NCIS! I hope you enjoy, and the first chapter will be posted later tonight. Many thanks to my trusty beta, Wolfpack pride._

_Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or SPN! _

* * *

In the lonely remnants of a chapel on the rocky shores of a beach in Maryland, a man with light-brown hair and eyes a curious shade of hazel sat in a dilapidated confession booth. No priest was on the other side; he was utterly alone. Waves crashed mercilessly against the shore as a thick blanket of storm clouds began to form in the sky, the threat of rain imminent. The man was speaking, but only to himself and God. Whether he was being heard or not was another matter entirely.

"I am Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo Junior of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, and today, I killed my best friend," he whispered, bowing his head and clasping his hands together. "It was the only thing I could do. It was either I let him kill all of us... or he had to die. I reacted like I was trained to. I weighed the options and chose the most favorable one." He dragged in a shaky breath. "I don't know if You will ever forgive me, but I know that I will never forgive myself. If I had done what I was supposed to do, if I had protected them, he would still be alive and Gibbs wouldn't be chained to a chair sitting in the middle of a pentagram right now."

He withdrew the syringe from his pocket. "I have done many terrible things. I beg for forgiveness for the lives that I've ended, for the lives I wasn't able to save. But most of all, I pray for forgiveness for what I have just done, and what I am about to do." He plunged the tip of the needle into the central vein of his right arm, wincing as the pain arced up his forearm. "I pray that I will not have to kill another person I love today."


	2. Miseria Cantare

**Chapter 1: Miseria Cantare**

_A/N: This takes place in the middle of season five for SPN (shortly after "Sam, Interrupted") and the middle of season seven for NCIS (shortly after "Ignition"). So, that puts this around January of 2010._

_Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or SPN, and the lyrics to "The Thing That Should Not Be" belong to Metallica._

* * *

_Thirty-six hours earlier..._

It all started on a normal day. But then again, it's always a normal day when things turn so completely abnormal, isn't it? Tony was seated at his desk, skulking around the internet for something of interest. Across from him, Ziva was absorbed in some book that appeared to be written in Hebrew, and to his right McGee was tapping away furiously at his computer, doing whatever various McGeek-y activities he was usually up to.

He relaxed, throwing his feet up on his desk. Gibbs was on a coffee run, and so far today they hadn't had any pressing cases to deal with. Most likely Gibbs would come back and put them on a cold case to work on for the rest of the afternoon. Hell, maybe he'd be able to head home early today, sit down with some Magnum PI reruns and a six pack of Coors. Have a relaxing evening to himself.

At that moment, Gibbs strolled into the bullpen, cup of black-as-night coffee held in his hand. He tossed the keys to the MCRT van to Tony as he made his way to his desk, sliding the drawer open and removing his SIG and badge from it. "Grab your gear. We've got a dead Marine in Georgetown."

Tony harrumphed slightly as he delved into his desk and grabbed his weapon and ID. So much for an uneventful day. Oh well. He needed to stretch his legs, and it had been proven before that a bored Tony tended to annoy the living crap out of those around him. Ziva and McGee copied him, grabbing their own weapons before heading towards the elevator.

A few moments later, Gibbs and Ziva were in the cruiser, driving towards the scene located in one of the more upscale apartments in downtown Georgetown, with himself and McGee trailing close behind in the MCRT van. McGee yawned, trying to muffle it with a hand. Tony glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Late night?" he asked innocently. McGee leveled an exasperated glare at him, the one he was used to receiving from the younger man. He merely smiled in response. "Good for you, McSlyDog. Thought you'd be a little cheerier after a night down in the dungeon with your Elf Lady."

"There is no Elf Lady, Tony," McGee replied with a roll of his eyes. "For your information, Jethro got sick last night. My apartment was covered in dog vomit when I got home, and I had to clean it up and take him to the vet."

"Tough break. Shame you didn't teach man's best friend to puke in the toilet," Tony commented idly as he followed the cruiser off the highway and onto the street that led to the apartment building where the dead Marine was waiting for them.

"Thanks for your sympathy," McGee responded, voice thick with sarcasm. Tony snorted, pulling onto the curb behind the cruiser. Gibbs exited the car, Ziva close behind, and Tony and McGee tailed them up the walkway that led to the apartment. They ducked under the crime scene tape, and Gibbs dispatched Ziva to speak with the local LEOs who had found the body.

The Marine's apartment was on the second floor, and Tony, Gibbs, and McGee made their way there. Gibbs pushed the front door open, and Tony's eyes widened at what he saw. "Holy crap," was all he could think to say.

There was blood _everywhere_. On the walls, on the furniture, on the carpet, splattered on the windows. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it wasn't just blood... he saw fragments of what must have been a human being as well. He felt his stomach do an unpleasant flip, and he saw McGee pale visibly next to him. God, he had seen a lot of gruesome stuff in his career as a cop and as a federal agent, but he'd never seen anything on this level before.

"Boss, how exactly did the cops who were called to the scene tell that this guy was a Marine?" he asked, glancing around. "Or more importantly, how did they tell that he was a guy, period?"

Gibbs said nothing, but pointed towards a spot in the center of the living room. Squinting his eyes, Tony managed to make out a torso among the mess of crimson chunks and fluid. He was wearing a Marine uniform. "Why would he be wearing his uniform in the middle of the day in his own home?" McGee questioned.

"Well, that's what we're here to find out. McGee, bag and tag. DiNozzo, photos." Both obeyed, quickly busying themselves with their various tasks. "McGee, for now, just get any evidence that wasn't part of the victim. We'll let Ducky and Palmer handle the bits and pieces."

McGee nodded before departing into the kitchen. "It's as if you summoned me, Jethro," a familiar Scottish accent rang through the apartment as Ducky and Palmer arrived, navigating their way into the room, gurney in tow. The older gentleman took in the room, and even the ME, who was legendary for being disgusted by literally nothing, seemed a little put off by the scene. "Oh dear."

"Don't know if you'll need the gurney, Duck," Gibbs said, gesturing towards the torso. "Not much left of him."

"No, I suppose we won't. Mr. Palmer, return to the autopsy van and get as many evidence bags as you can. It appears we have quite a bit of work ahead of us," he said, pulling on his white latex gloves and making his way toward the body - if you could call it that.

"Yes, doctor," Palmer said before departing the apartment. Ducky bent down next to the body, removing his liver probe from his pocket, before inserting the probe into the corpse. "I have to admit, it is lucky that he even has a liver left to probe. He's been partially disemboweled.

"TOD?" Gibbs asked as Tony snapped image after image of the macabre scene, from the blood-soaked curtains to the piles of gore spattered on the couch.

"I'd hazard to say roughly twelve hours ago, midnight of last night," Ducky replied. "I have to admit, even I have never seen anything of this magnitude before. It appears almost as if the man exploded, judging from the range and amount of remains, but there doesn't seem to be any sign of scorch marks on him or anywhere in his home that I can see," he said, thinking aloud.

"He's been ripped to shreds," Gibbs said, making his way around the apartment, narrowing practiced eyes anything out of the ordinary. He paused at one of the walls, pointing at it. "These look like claw marks to you, Duck?" he asked. Tony turned around, leaning over Gibbs' shoulder to snap a picture of what did indeed seem to be claw furrows on the walls.

"They do," Ducky agreed, peering at them. "What exactly are we dealing with here, Jethro?"

"Lions? Tigers? Bears?" Tony proposed, shooting the claw marks from another angle. "This is so _Teen Wolf._" He let out a squeak as Gibbs landed a slap on the back of his head. "Going back to work now, boss."

For the next hour, he alternated between taking photographs, sketching, and measuring the crime scene as McGee, Gibbs, Palmer and Ducky milled about the apartment. Ziva had gotten the easiest job, speaking with local LEOs and interviewing the neighbors. The cops had been called in when one of the neighbors had heard growling and high-pitched screams coming from her neighbor's home, her neighbor whose name was supposedly Lance Corporal Avery Belisarius. _Growling, claw marks, _Tony mused as they were finishing up. _What's next?_

"We're done here," Gibbs said finally, adjusting his NCIS cap. "DiNozzo, McGee, come on," he said, nodding towards the door. Tony glanced back at McGee, who had just come out of the Lance Corporal's bedroom. Tony narrowed his eyes at the young man. He was just as pale as when they came in, and he was subconsciously rubbing the side of his neck, his green eyes confused.

"You okay, McSqueemish?" Tony asked, careful not to show too much concern as he gathered up the gear they had hauled into the apartment. McGee walked slightly behind him and Gibbs, eyes downcast.

"I'm fine," he said, voice shaking slightly and contradicting his statement.

"Shouldn't be, after that," Gibbs commented, jerking his head back towards the apartment door. McGee merely shrugged in response. Tony continued to keep an eye on the younger agent as they made their way back to NCIS. Once back in the bullpen and seated at their desks, McGee settled down in front of his computer. He typed much slower than usual, his hand scratching at his neck every few minutes. Tony decided for the moment to brush it off, but he had been taught never to doubt his gut. When he had the chance, he would corner McGee and ask him point black what was going on with him.

At the moment, they had more pressing issues. He had led the way back to NCIS in the MCRT van, and when they arrived, Gibbs and Ziva had been nowhere to be seen. "Must have gotten caught up in traffic**.**" he had guessed, and he and McGee had continued their work researching Lance Corporal Belisarius. But now, he and McGee had been back for fifteen minutes, and there was still no sign of Gibbs or Ziva, and with the way Gibbs drove (i.e. like a maniac) that was anything but usual.

He picked up his phone, hitting Gibbs' speed dial number. Things were starting to get weird... he _hated _weird, and it wasn't even Halloween...

* * *

"_Messenger of fear in sight, dark deception kills the light. Hybrid children watch the sea, pray for father roaming free," _Dean sang as they drove down the highway, drumming his fingertips on the steering wheel. Sam groaned aloud.

"Dude, will you knock it off? If you're going to subject me to your music, at least don't sing along," he complained as he watched the traffic pass by their window as they pulled off onto a side street that led to the residential area of Georgetown.

"_Fearless wretch! Insanity! He watches lurking beneath the sea," _he continued, completely ignoring Sam's protests. The younger Winchester brother face-palmed.

"You sing like a drunken sailor," he muttered. Dean just laughed at his brother's irritation. Just as he was about to sing the next line, however, he noticed something in the rear-view mirror. It was a spotless, sleek black cruiser with tinted windows. _Definitely feds, _Dean thought to himself. The car continued following them down the street, matching their speed just enough to trail shortly behind them.

"Bobby said the dead guy's Army, right?" Dean questioned, glancing sideways at Sam.

"Marine Corps," his brother corrected. Dean let out a low chuckle. "What?" Sam asked.

"We're going to be getting to this guy at the same time as our buddies behind us," Dean said, pointing with his thumb at the vehicle behind them. "If this dude's a Marine, then that'll be NCIS."

"NCIS?" Sam repeated, confused.

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service," he elaborated. "Which means this is about to get real interesting."

* * *

Gibbs drove only a few miles over the speed limit, which was slower than usual for him, as they headed back to the Navy Yard. "That scene was disturbing," Ziva commented as she watched the monotony of the city going by from the passenger seat window. "Even in my time with Mossad, I never saw something like that."

"We're dealing with one sick son of a bitch," he said by way of agreement. He watched the road in front of him, and out of the corner of his eye he caught a familiar sight... a restored '67 Chevy Impala, painted black as night, heading the way they had just come from. _Oh, hell no._

Without a second thought, Gibbs did a U-turn in the middle of the highway before pressing his foot to the accelerator to catch up with the sleek black vehicle. "Gibbs!" Ziva said, clutching the safety handle that dangled above the window and looking at him as though he had gone insane. "What are you doing?"

He responded by weaving through several cars and pressing the gas pedal to the floor. Ziva did not seem pleased. "Just hold on," he said, hoping it would placate her until he discovered the destination that the vehicle was heading. After tailing the car for several blocks, Ziva's dark eyes narrowed, and she seemed to catch onto which of the many cars on the highway they were following.

"The Impala?" she questioned, and he nodded. "Why?"

"I've seen it before, once," he said, his mind drifting back to the memories of John Winchester and his son Dean, the strange men he had met when he was still working with Stan Burley and Vivian Blackadder, the men who had interfered with their investigation, pissed him off to no end, and yet still managed to save their asses in the end. The men who called themselves 'hunters'...

"Do you think it could have something to do with Lance Corporal Belisarius?" Ziva asked as they pulled onto the side street, closing in on the Impala.

"What do I always say, Ziver?" he asked, eyes glued to the Kansas license plate on the Impala.

"Uh..." she trailed off. "Apologizing is a sign of weakness, never go anywhere without a knife, you don't believe in coincidences-"

"Ding ding," he told her, pulling onto the curb, mirroring the car in front of them. For a moment, they didn't exit their vehicle, and the two people he could make out in the Impala did not step out of theirs. After a tense moment, two men exited the car. One was of gargantuan height with shoulder length brown hair and wide eyes, who Gibbs didn't recognize. The other was more diminutive, with short brown hair and a broad chest. He recognized a ten years older Dean Winchester. By the same shade of their hair and similar facial features, he hazarded a guess that the other man was Dean's brother or cousin.

Gibbs stepped out of his car now, and Ziva followed suit, hand resting on the butt of her SIG. Dean and the other man approached their car, and Gibbs saw that apparently they had taken their father's habit of disguising themselves as Feds, as they were clad in neatly pressed black suits. He would guarantee that they were equipped with very convincing fake IDs as well.

For a long moment, the four of them eyed each other. Dean's eyes were fixed on Gibbs for several seconds before his lips quirked up in a smile. "Well, I'll be damned." The other man glanced at him.

"You know these two?" he asked out of the corner of his mouth.

"Not her, but I know him. Pop and I worked a case with him when you were in your first year at Stanford," Dean said, nodding at him. "Been a long time, Gibbs," he greeted, extending his hand. Gibbs gave him his patented half-smirk.

"You're looking old, Dean," Gibbs commented before accepting Dean's hand and giving it a firm shake.

"I could say the same to you, if I wanted to get my ass kicked," Dean said.

"Who's your friend?" he asked, gesturing at the man next to him.

"This is my little brother Sammy," Dean answered, and the other man rolled his eyes. "Yours?"

"Special Agent Ziva David," Gibbs responded. "What brings you two here?"

"Same thing as you, I'm guessing," Dean replied. "Murder."

"What agency are you with?" Ziva inquired, eyeing their suits. Sam glanced at Dean, and Gibbs guessed that he was silently asking, _"Does he know?"_

"We're not with an agency," Dean replied, looking away from his brother. "We're... freelance."

"You are PIs, yes?" she asked, tilting her head.

"In a manner of speaking." Sam shifted awkwardly. "Well, we're going to go in now, if that's okay."

"Not without us, you aren't," Gibbs said, taking a step towards Sam. In spite of the fact that Sam was a solid six inches taller than him, the man shrank back slightly when he did so. He glanced sideways at Dean. "Same rules as last time, Winchester. I'll let you do your thing, but only if NCIS supervises."

"Gibbs, no offense, but I'm not sure NCIS wants their fingers in this cookie jar," Dean responded. "Our friend's got a buddy on the local PD, he says this scene's bad - like demon bad. I know the guy's Navy-"

"Marine," Gibbs corrected.

"-but you might want to step back on this one," he finished.

"We've already seen it," Gibbs said. "We were heading back to the Navy Yard when I saw the Impala. Whole place has been bagged and tagged, photographed and sketched. All that's left are the bloodstains."

"Damn it," Dean swore.

"We're generally pretty good about getting here before the party starts," Sam commented. "We'll check the place out anyway, there might have been something you guys missed."

"We do not _miss _things," Ziva said, slightly defensive.

"Well missy, I doubt you were looking for the same things we are," Dean said a wink as he began heading up the sidewalk to the apartment complex, Sam trailing close behind. Ziva glared at their retreating backs. Gibbs held back a smirk as he put a hand on Ziva's shoulder and the two of them followed the brothers into the complex, up the stairs, and into Lance Corporal Belisarius' apartment, nodding at the Metro PD officers that were left to guard the crime scene.

"If it's this bad now, I wouldn't want to see what it looked like before you guys cleaned it up," Sam said, eyes widening at the multitude of dark stains in the living room. "So you'll work with us on this, then?"

"Depends on what our ME says," Gibbs responded, leaning against the wall as he watched the Winchester boys mill around the room. "If it seems like this is something in your area of expertise, I'll let you consult. Otherwise," he left the boys' imagination to finish the sentence.

"Was there even anything left of this dude to autopsy?" Dean asked, ducking into a hall closet and peering inside. Sam made his way toward the kitchen.

"His torso was somewhat intact," Ziva informed them.

"Somewhat being the key word, I'm guessing," Sam called from the kitchen.

"Who tipped you two off about this?" Gibbs asked.

"Like I said, our friend has a buddy in Metro PD, knew about our... specialty. Gave us a heads up," Dean explained vaguely.

"What exactly _is_ your specialty?" Ziva asked, somewhat snappishly. "I am tired of being out of the line."

"Out of the loop," Gibbs corrected, since Tony was absent and could not do so. "You wouldn't believe 'em if they told you, Ziva." Ziva raised an eyebrow at him.

"Try me."

"Demons," Sam called as he made his way to the Lance Corporal's bedroom. "Ghosts. Vampires. Ghouls. Werewolves."

"Basically every scary thing that's supposed to stay under the bed," Dean added. "Everything you're taught by mommy and daddy not to believe in," he continued. Gibbs assumed that Ziva would laugh, or immediately write the brothers off as lunatics, but she seemed completely nonplussed by what they had said.

"Perhaps it is that way in America, but not in Israel," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "Mossad has an entire team dedicated to deal with supernatural threats, called the _Shisha_ unit. Most of the middle east is perfectly aware of the fact that what the west writes of as fantasy is actually real."

Sam exited the bedroom, glancing sideways at his brother. "We're generally used to a lot more resistance than that."

"Refreshing, isn't it?" Dean asked, shoving his hands in his pockets, sniffing the air. "Sammy, you smell that?"

Sam sniffed as well. "Sulfur." The lights of the apartment began to flicker, and it felt as though the temperature in the room had dropped thirty degrees.

"Uh-oh."


	3. Strength Through Wounding

**Chapter 2: Strength Through Wounding**

_A/N: Thank you as always to my beta Wolfpack pride, and thanks to all of you readers, too!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or Supernatural!_

* * *

"What the hell is going on?" Gibbs asked as the room seemed to start to vibrate. Dean withdrew a sawed off shotgun, and Sam withdrew a dagger from a sheath on his side. There was some kind of ruins imprinted on the side of the knife.

"Gibbs, Ziva, get down!" Sam said, whirring around in a circle. There was a shadow, he could see it now, it was flying around the room.

Gibbs, remembering the last time a Winchester had told him to get down, quickly tackled Ziva to the floor. He scrambled to cover her with his body, and got his head down, flinching, as a series of violent crashes resounded around the room. He lifted his head to see Dean being throw into the wall, his head cracking against it. He slid to the floor with a groan, dropping his weapon with a clatter.

The shadow had taken a solid form now. It looked like a mixture of a wolf and a bear cub, and it stood on its hind legs, arms raised and five inch claws extended. It's eyes were black as night. Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not a man who was afraid of much of anything, not really, but as he watched the monster launch itself forward and rake it's claws across Sam's chest, causing the young man to sink to his knees with a howl of pain, he felt a thrill of terror.

The monster lunged at his neck, sinking its teeth into the side, and Sam's howl increased to a shrill scream. "Sammy!" Dean yelled as he struggled off of the floor, disoriented.

"Gibbs, what is going on!?" Ziva exclaimed from underneath him. The beast growled, and Gibbs pinned her to the floor harder, trying to cover every inch of her with his own body. Thank God she was relatively small.

"Just stay down, Ziver," he told her as the monster finished with Sam, bounding away from him and jumping on Dean's back, its teeth going to the same portion of his neck that he had just bitten on Sam's. Sam was struggling up now, clutching his bleeding neck, reaching into his pocket and removing a flask.

The beast unclamped its jaws from Dean's throat, and the young man fell forward face first into the floor. Sam tried to waylay the monster as it barreled towards where Gibbs and Ziva were prone on the floor, but the monster launched out a leg, hitting Sam square in the stomach and knocking him backwards.

The next second, Gibbs felt a heavy weight on his back, sharp claws digging into his shoulder blades. He groaned, feeling the beast's fetid breath on his ear before it latched its fangs onto his neck, needle sharp. He felt the monster sucking on him for a few seconds that might as well have been a lifetime before he heard it emit a high pitched squeal. A moment later, he felt the weight lifted off of him and the feel of water splashing on his back.

"You get it?" he heard Dean ask in a trembling voice.

"I dispelled it for now, but it's not gone," Sam said. Gibbs felt a hand on his shoulder. "You can get up now."

Gibbs rolled off of Ziva, hand clutching at his neck, breathing harshly. Pain arced through him, and he was almost positive that the wound had been poisoned. He blinked his eyes open, and Dean and Sam, both cut up and nursing their own wounds, were kneeling over him. He saw Ziva's face enter his field of vision as well. "Gibbs, are you alright?" she asked, voice panicked.

"Thanks for the concern for us," Dean grumbled dryly. Gibbs coughed slightly, forcing himself into a sitting position, the wounds on his shoulder throbbing as he did so.

"I'm fine," he said, checking her up and down to make sure she wasn't injured before turning to the brothers. "You care to tell me what in God's name that was?"

"Aside from 'scary as hell' and 'demon'? No," Dean replied. "I've never seen anything like that before..." he winced. "God, I am sick of bloodsuckers. This is the last thing I needed after last week."

"Thought this was your specialty," Gibbs said, massaging the side of his neck with a wince. "What'd you do to get rid of the thing?"

"I threw holy water on it," Sam explained. "It damages a demon's essence, puts them in a lot of pain. It'll chase him off for at least a little while."

"That thing... I think we're dealing with one strong ass demon," Dean summarized. "This is bad."

"Where do we go from here?" Gibbs asked, rising shakily to his feet. The Winchesters and Ziva followed suit.

"Depends," Dean replied. "You letting us work the case with you, now?"

"What do you think?" he grumbled. "Come on. We're going to the Navy Yard. Will have our ME check you two out, show you the body, crime scene photos."

"Uh, Gibbs, I'm not sure we're on the same page here, but medical examiners are for dead people. We're a little beat up, but we're still breathing," Dean said.

"Just because he works on the dead does not mean he does not know his way around the living," Ziva said, still eyeing Gibbs worriedly. "You should have yourself checked out as well, Gibbs. You are bleeding badly."

He grunted in response before nodding towards the door. "Come on - let's get out of here before we get a repeat performance."

* * *

"That's the eighth time I've called, still no answer from Gibbs or Ziva," Tony said, pacing the bullpen like a madman. McGee looked on worriedly from his desk. "Rule #3: Never be unreachable. You know things are bad when Gibbs starts breaking his own rules." He tossed his phone onto the surface of his desk, turning to McGee. "Trace his cell. If you can't get a lock on his location, try Ziva's."

"Got it," he said as he nodded with pursed lips, tapping away on his computer. He halted for a second, wincing hard and putting his hand to his neck again. Tony let out an irritated sigh.

"McGee, will you tell me what's going on with your neck? Elf Lady got too frisky last night? You've been fidgeting worse than usual," he said. McGee didn't look at him, eyes glued to the computer screen.

"I told you Tony, there is no Elf Lady. I must have just nicked my neck at the scene or something. It's bugging me, but it's nothing I can't deal with," he said. "No lock on Gibbs' GPS signal, but it pinged a tower about twenty minutes ago."

"Where?" Tony asked immediately.

"Downtown Georgetown," McGee said, furrowing his brow. "That can't be right. I remember seeing them following behind us at least half of the way here."

"They must have turned around and headed back to the scene," Tony theorized. "Try Ziva's."

A few moments passed by, and McGee shook his head when he got the result. "Same as Gibbs. Phone's either damaged or off."

"Damaged," a voice said from behind him. Tony jumped, turning to see Gibbs strolling into the bullpen, flanked by Ziva and two men he didn't recognize. He noticed that the shoulder of Gibbs' shirt was stained dark with blood. The taller of the two men with him had slash marks across his chest, blood seeping out of his neck, and the shorter had similar neck wounds. To his relief, Ziva did not seem to be injured.

"Boss, what the hell happened to you?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. "Who are these two? Suspects?"

The shorter one snorted, and the taller one shook his head. "We're... consultants."

"Consultants?" McGee echoed.

"Come on, we're heading to autopsy, we'll explain everything down there. Get Abby and meet us there," Gibbs said, making his way past the bullpen, Ziva and the two men trailing behind him.

"And so the plot thickens," Tony muttered, watching after them.

* * *

Tony strode into autopsy, flanked on either side by Abby and McGee. Once inside the cool basement, he saw that Gibbs and the two men were seated on one of the cold steel tables in a straight line, the taller one of which was shirtless, with Ducky examining the bloody wound on Gibbs' neck, with Ziva standing off to the side, since she appeared to be uninjured. "Jethro, these bite marks are needle sharp, very narrow. I've never seen anything quite like it."

"I'd be surprised if you had." the shorter of the two men rasped as he held an icepack to his neck.

"Gibbs!" Abby exclaimed, rushing to the older agent and wrapping her arms around him. Ducky stepped away just in time to avoid being barreled over. Gibbs reciprocated the hug, kissing Abby lightly on the cheek.

"I'm fine, Abs," he assured her. He held her for a moment longer before pulling back. "I'll be even _more_ fineif you let Duck fix me up."

"Oh, sorry!" she apologized quickly, stepping back and letting Ducky resume the bandaging of the older agent's neck. Abby's eyes turned to the other two men, the taller of which seemed very interested in her outfit. Tony resisted the urge to deck him for his wandering eyes. "Wait a minute... Dean?" she asked, directing her comment towards the shorter of the two.

Dean narrowed his eyes at her before his face broke into a smile. "Abby," he said with sudden realization. She quickly threw her arms around him, and he returned the hug. "Good to see you again."

"Definitely!" she said, pulling away. "It's been like, what, ten years?"

"About," he responded before motioning to the man next to him. "Abby, this is my brother Sam."

"Hey," Sam greeted.

"Nice to meet you," she said cheerily. "I'd give you a hug too, but I know some people have personal space issues for some reason so I try not to hug random strangers anymore."

"No problem."

"You know these guys?" McGee asked suspiciously, eyes darting between the two brothers.

"I know Dean. He and his dad worked a case with the team a little bit before Tony was hired on," she explained before turning back to Sam. "Oh, and this is Tony DiNozzo and Tim McGee," she said, gesturing back towards the two of them. Sam and Dean acknowledged them with identical nods.

"Okay, can we skip the meet and greet and fast forward to the part where you tell us where you disappeared to and why the three of you look like you stepped out of one of several hundred cheap horror flicks I won't go to the trouble to name?" Tony inquired. "Bite marks? You look like you got clawed across the chest," he motioned to Sam.

"It was a demon," Ziva answered bluntly. McGee's eyes widened, and Tony snorted derisively. "It attacked the four of us, bit Gibbs, Dean, and Sam's necks. Dean and Sam are hunters, men who track down supernatural entities and dispose of them. Gibbs recognized their car as it was going back to the scene, having a worked a case with Dean his father before, so we turned around and followed them. They heard through the rape vine that there was a strange murder there. Once the four of us were inside, we were attacked by a monster that they identified as a demon."

"Did she mean grapevine?" Dean asked. "I'm really hoping she meant grapevine."

"Yes, whatever," she said, waving him off. "Right now, that is all there is to tell. Our Lance Corporal," she motioned to the disembodied torso on one of the other autopsy tables. "was apparently killed by this demon."

"Definitely," Sam agreed.

Tony stared at the grouping as Ducky moved onto bandaging Dean's neck, who frowned when antiseptic was poured on the wound. "Hold on, let me go check my calendar. I thought April Fools was a few months away."

"No joke, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled, shifting off of the autopsy table and onto his own two feet again. Okay, that threw him for a loop. Gibbs would never go along with an insane prank like this. _I mean, this is something I would do, not Gibbs and Ziva._

"Come on, where's Ashton Kutcher?" he asked, swinging his head around in a mocking fashion. "I'm being Punk'd, right?"

"T-Tony," McGee stammered quietly from behind him. Tony turned slightly to see the horrified expression on his friend's face. "I don't think they're joking." He gulped as he pulled back the collar of his shirt, revealing two small, bloody holes parallel to each other. Tony's head jerked to the side, analyzing Sam's wound, which had yet to be bandaged since Ducky was taking care of his chest, and it was identical to McGee's.

"When did you get that?" Dean asked, mimicking Gibbs and jumping off of the table, moving forward and manhandling McGee's head so his neck was completely visible. "They're exactly the same as ours, same place, too."

"When we were at the crime scene," he said, jerking back slightly at Dean's touch. "I went into Lance Corporal Belisarius' room, and everything suddenly went... cold. The lights flickered, and I felt like there was something behind me. Then, I felt teeth sinking into my neck. It happened so quickly that I just figured that I was just being paranoid, that the scene was getting to me. My neck's been itching like crazy, and when I looked in the mirror in the van, I had these two pinpricks on my neck."

Tony's head swung between the two of them, and he shook his head in disbelief. "This is insane..."

"It's true, Tony," Abby piped up from where she stood next to Gibbs. "If you look in the right places, you find out that demons aren't so far-fetched." She held up one of her hands, where a ring with a pentagram inscribed on it surrounded her middle finger. "Why do you think I wear this? Keeps me safe from possession."

"It wasn't until the second half of the nineteenth century that such a stigma of disbelief came upon witchcraft and exorcism," Ducky shared, not seeming caught off-guard by the transpiring events. "There is a reason that the Catholic church still has licensed exorcists. Demons are not fiction."

"Okay, fine, fine," Tony said, holding up his hands. "For now, let's say that you haven't all gone insane. Question is, what now?"

"Well, it got your friend here, too," Dean surmised. "Why would a demon that powerful just give us all little love bites? Judging by what he did to Corporal Murdered-and-Maimed over there, it could have turned us all into meat stew."

"It must want something else," Sam guessed as Ducky finished bandaging the wound on his neck. "Question is, what?"

"Hell if I know," the hunter replied. "I'm going to through Dad's journal, ask Bobby about it, try and find someone who's dealt with something like this before."

"Where is your old man?" Gibbs asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at the young man.

"He died," Sam said quietly, staring down at his hands. "Few years back."

This gave Gibbs pause. "Sorry to hear that. Was a crotchety old bastard, but he was a good guy. Good at what he did."

"Yeah," Dean said in a monotone. "He was."

"Timothy, come here. Your neck should be treated as well. We wouldn't want you to contract an infection," Ducky said, beckoning for McGee to come sit on the autopsy table. McGee ducked his head, obeying the medical examiner and coming to take the empty space that Gibbs had previously occupied.

"So, can we set up shop here, Gibbs?" Dean asked, leaving what apparently was the touchy subject of his father behind.

"Whoa, hold up," Tony said. "Do you two have any investigative experience, or are you just going to toss salt on all of us and hope for the best? No offense, but guns generally work a little better than crosses and hoping real hard-"

A second later, he found a sawed-off shotgun being pointed in his face. He took a step back, hand resting on his SIG, unsure of whether he should remove it from its holster or not. "We have guns," Dean said simply. A second later, his vision was cleared of the barrel of the shotgun, and he saw Gibbs slam Dean against the wall of autopsy, lifting him several inches off of the ground with only one hand.

"You point a gun at one of my agents again," Gibbs said quietly. "And you're going to have three pointing back at you."

Dean struggled slightly. "Damn, you're strong," he commented. "Alright, alright. Will you put me down, now?"

"Mr. Winchester," Ducky said, directing his question at Sam. "Is there a possibility that the four of you were injected with some kind of slow-acting poison when you were accosted?" he inquired as Gibbs released Dean.

"Definitely a possibility," Sam replied. "We'll look into it. Now, about that setting up shop thing...?" he questioned, glancing worriedly between Dean and Gibbs. Dean was massaging his collar where Gibbs had grabbed him.

"Free conference room on the top floor, next to the director's office," Gibbs provided. "Whatever you need, bring it there. You have any problems, come to us."

Both brothers nodded. "Good," Dean said. "Come on, Sam, let's go find out what the hell we're dealing with here."

Before Sam could respond, there was the feel of a cool autumn breeze and a slight _woosh _in the room, causing Tony to spin around. Behind him was a man clad in a light brown trenchcoat that hung down to his knees, along with a white dress shirt and blue tie. He had bright blue eyes that reminded him of Gibbs', and a swath of short, thick, dark brown hair.

"I may be able to assist you with that."

* * *

_A/N: Reviews would be loved. :)_


	4. Tortures of the Damned

**Chapter 3: Tortures of the Damned**

_A/N: Thank you all for the feedback so far, and thanks to my beta Wolfpack pride for all of her help!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or Supernatural._

* * *

"Cas," Dean greeted the newcomer. "Nice of you to drop in on us."

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked, brow furrowing. Tony just stared at the man who had materialized behind him.

"And who is this? Is he a ghost, or something?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at the man.

"I am Castiel," the man replied.

"Cool name," Abby commented, bouncing on her heels.

"Castiel is a friend of ours," Dean explained.

"He human?" Gibbs asked, eyeing Castiel with undisguised suspicion.

"No," Castiel responded. "I am an angel."

"Angels!" Tony exclaimed with a laugh. "Awesome! Can't have demons without angels too, right?" He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. What the hell was next?

"I've come to give you a message," Castiel said, looking around the room at large. "Not just to Dean and Sam, but those of you that have been bitten as well. There is a great evil rising in Washington, one that hasn't been seen in thousands of years. If it's not stopped, terrible things will come to pass."

"Um, Cas, I don't know if you've noticed this, but terrible stuff is already coming to pass," Sam pointed out with a frown.

"This is a threat that is almost enough to match Michael and Lucifer's impending battle," Cas replied. Tony blinked at the name. _Lucifer. That's definitely not a good sign. _"In the event that we're unable to stop the two of them, there is still some vague hope for the human race, granting that Michael is victorious. This, however, could have the potential to destroy everything. The demon you're dealing with is beyond anything you've ever encountered before. It can circumvent charms, is barely harmed by holy water, salt - nothing that would usually work on a demon. It can dispel it for a few minutes, but it returns just as strong as it was before. It's nearly invincible."

"What's this thing called?" Sam asked.

"The Orochi demon, Yamata-no-Orochi," Castiel responded.

"I'm familiar with the legend," Ducky shared as he finished wrapping a bandage around McGee's neck. "The Orochi demon is a staple of Shinto and ancestral Japanese mythology."

"Correct, except it isn't mythology," the angel said, moving forward to stand in front of the gathering in autopsy. "The last time the Orochi demon was summoned, it destroyed half of Japan before being banished back to Hell by the angel Susano. It is a beast summoned by the use of twenty thousand sacrificed damned souls, taken straight from the depths of Hell. The lesser monster you encountered earlier is how it appears when not in its vaporous form."

"Lesser?" Ziva echoed. "There did not seem to be anything _lesser _about it."

"I'm sensing a 'wait, but it gets worse' coming on," Dean groaned. Castiel nodded in affirmation.

"Yes, it does," he deadpanned. "As I mentioned, what you've seen now is only Orochi's lesser form. To take on its true form at full power, it must consume the bodies and souls of eight humans. Once that's done, it can take on its greater form, which is nearly unstoppable."

"Dandy," Tony commented. "So Lance Corporal Belisarius was its first victim, or have there been more?"

"The first," Castiel responded. "However, the process that Orochi must go through to consume the eight souls and bodies is its greatest handicap."

"What does it have to do?" Sam asked.

"To begin, the Orochi demon must mark its next target by biting its neck. It takes in the blood of the victim so it can track them, and injects some of its own venom. The venom courses through the victim's body, strengthening it over the next twenty-four hour time period so it can survive being possessed by the demon. The four of you will notice increased strength, speed, and awareness for the rest of your lives, so long as you avoid possession by the Orochi demon."

"Like Superman," Tony said with a small grin. "Guess that makes you Wonderboy, McGee." He received a dirty look from the agent in question.

"Once the preparation period has passed, Orochi can possess the person in question. It has to remain in the body for twenty four hours before it is able to consume the soul and flesh. At this point, it releases the body for a short period of time and takes its lesser form. It then proceeds to devour both the body and soul, rather violently."

"Yeah, we noticed that much," Gibbs said, eyes darting toward the Lance Corporal's disembodied torso.

"The selection of the human host is also unconventional. The eight chosen souls have to be of mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical strength. Mainly because a weaker being couldn't handle the Orochi's presence in their body, but also because the stronger the souls that the demon feasts on, the more powerful its final form will become," Castiel explained in his usual monotone. Tony sighed, his head spinning.

In the span of roughly two hours, he had gone from living in a world that actually made sense to living in a world where apparently there were demons, angels, and hunters running around, all in some crazy battle that he had somehow never noticed before. This was insane. "Wait a minute, if he's going for strong souls, why did he go for Probie first?" he asked, directing the question at the angel.

Castiel's face went blank. "What is a… Probie?"

"Long story," Abby said by way of explanation. "He means why did the demon get the jump on Timmy?" she asked, green eyes darting worriedly to McGee, who was still rubbing at his neck.

"I'm strong," McGee defended, puffing out his chest slightly.

"I've met fluffy bunnies that are more intimidating than you are, McGoo," Tony said. "You're not exactly what demons are made of."

"Didn't you just start believing in this stuff like ten minutes ago?" Dean asked. "How would you know?"

"I've watched _The Tommyknockers,_" Tony argued weakly.

"Those were aliens, not demons, genius," Dean pointed out. Gibbs rolled his eyes irritably, head-slapping both of them hard. "Hey, what the hell?"

"Don't worry," Abby assured him. "It's a sign of affection."

"As I was saying," Castiel said rather loudly, dragging the group back on topic. "You, err, Timmy," the angel seemed unsure of what to call him, not having been formally introduced. "Have an inner strength that was detected by the demon, hence why he marked you. He must have marked you for the same reason," he nodded towards Gibbs. "And his motive for attacking Sam and Dean is obvious."

"Obvious?" Tony questioned. "What, are you two some kind of legendary badass demon hunting team?"

Dean and Sam smirked at each other, and Castiel nodded his head fervently. "Yes, exactly."

Tony glanced at the brothers. "Does he get sarcasm?" he questioned.

"Not really," they chorused.

"So, this demon... it'll come after the four of us? Once we're done being..." McGee gulped involuntarily. "being prepped?"

"It will," Castiel replied. "You first, since you were the first it attacked. Then in whatever order it bit Sam, Dean, and..." he trailed off as he motioned to Gibbs. "What would you like to be called?"

"Gibbs," he grunted predictably.

"Sam, Dean, and Gibbs," the angel finished.

"So, we've got to stop it before it comes to that," Sam surmised. "But how?"

"As I said, normal anti-demon weapons will not finish it off. Salt is almost useless against it, and even demonproofing seals will only hold it off for so long. Originally, Orochi was only defeated once it reached it reached its true form, so I'm not entirely positive on how to dispose of it its lesser form."

"And what exactly is its true form?" Ziva inquired.

"It depends on the caliber of the souls it harvests," Castiel answered. "3,000 years ago, it appeared as an eight headed snake beast."

"Oh my," Ducky commented.

"This is just wonderful," Tony sank down into the office chair that sat in front of Ducky's desk. "Listen, I don't get how we're supposed to help with this, we deal with criminals... _humans_. Not monsters."

"We've dealt with monsters, DiNozzo," Gibbs said quietly. "A hell of a lot more than most people." The cold eyes of Ari Haswari flashed in his mind, and strangely enough, Tony felt that he couldn't argue with that. Gibbs turned back to Castiel. "How do we kill it?"

"You cannot kill-"

"He means how do we get it gone, Cas," Dean interjected, slightly exasperated.

"Oh." The angel blinked. "Yes, well, I have a theory. Firstly, the only way to summon a beast such as the Orochi is by a complicated summoning ritual done by an extremely powerful witch, along with the aid of someone who controls a large amount of condemned human souls."

"You think Lucifer's behind this?" Dean asked in a low voice, crossing his arms and taking a step closer to Castiel.

"Lucifer," McGee repeated in a shaky voice. "As in Satan?"

"Yes, Lucifer as in Satan. However, I can see no motivation for him to raise the Orochi demon when he himself is already so powerful. I also see no reason why he would send it after the two of you when Sam is his intended vessel," Castiel replied.

"So, who's doing this, then?" Dean asked. "I can't think of anyone else who has access to that much juice."

"I believe the souls were acquired without Lucifer's knowledge."

"The only thing sneaky enough to get away with that would be-" Dean began, but Sam finished his sentence for him.

"Crowley," Sam growled.

"I assume so, yes," Castiel said.

"Who's Crowley?" Tony questioned. "That sounds like the name of a used car salesman."

"No. He's the King of the Crossroads, a demon. In other words, not our best buddy," Dean explained. "Especially after Carthage..." he added in a low voice.

"King of the Crossroads?" Ducky echoed. "Would you mind elaborating, lad?"

Castiel answered instead of Dean. "Crossroads demons are entities that make formal agreements or bargains with humans, granting any wish in exchange for claiming their life and soul at a fixed point in the future. Deals made with humans are sealed with a kiss, and contracts are written invisibly on the skin of the person. They tend to have red eyes, but can have black as well. When the person dies either before his or her time, or is killed by a hellhound at the end of the appointed period, his or her soul is sent to Hell. Terms of the demonic contracts vary, but the person selling his or her soul is usually given ten years to live after the deal is made. Crowley is the leader of these demons."

"Sounds like used car salesman wasn't that far off," Tony said. "Only, you know, with souls instead."

"I'm guessing we've got to waste the witch to get rid of Orochi?" Dean guessed, meeting Castiel's eyes, who nodded.

"Yes. Once you've hunted down and eliminated the witch that summoned the demon, you'll have to capture Orochi itself," he said.

"And how exactly are we going to go about doing that?" Sam asked. "You said normal anti-demon stuff doesn't have much affect on it."

"I'm afraid I'm still working on that," Castiel admitted. "However, chains inscribed with sigils and demon traps should still imprison Orochi. If you can manage to bind him, then imprison him in a pentacle, he'll be at least temporary apprehended. Once you've reached that phase, with luck I will know more in regards to permanently dismissing him. However, there is something you should know."

"And what's that?" Dean said, and he didn't sound like he was looking forward to the answer.

"The Orochi is one of the five entities that cannot be destroyed by the Colt," Castiel said. Dean and Sam's eyes widened.

"You're telling me this thing's on the same level as Lucifer?" Dean asked, voice cracking slightly.

"Essentially, yes," Cas replied. "That may be one of Crowley's motivations for summoning it. It could destroy Luficer's vessel," he nodded towards Sam. "and then launch a counterstrike against him once its assumed its true form."

"So," Dean said. "All we have to do is murder a witch strong enough to summon a demon that could bring on the apocalypse even sooner than we thought, and then capture said apocalyptic demon before he can turn us all into lunch." He smiled blandly. "Great."

"You have faced daunting challenges before," Castiel said. "I will assist in any way that I can, but for now, I will be investigating who gathered the twenty-thousand souls and how we can go about sending Orochi back to Hell."

"I thought it was that Crowley guy who gathered up the souls?" Abby asked.

"I assume it is, but I'm not certain. I would also like to discover his motivation, and make sure that he is indeed trying to stop Lucifer, and not working for him," he answered.

"Motive? He's an asshole. There, the riddle's solved," Dean said, eliciting a snort from Gibbs.

Castiel ignored Dean's indignation in favor of turning away from the brothers and directing his next words at the NCIS agents, Abby, and Ducky. "Gibbs, Timmy," McGee winced at the dead-serious nature that Castiel said his childish nickname with. "you have been marked. It would be wise to not to sleep anywhere that is not demon-proofed, or to go anywhere without either Dean or Sam accompanying you. You are in grave danger. I will say this, it is not by chance that you've met Dean and Sam. This is fate, ordained by my Father." Dean rolled his eyes at this. "If you stay close, hopefully we can all work together to prevent the apocalypse."

Castiel received very odd looks from Gibbs, Tony, and McGee. Abby and Ziva seemed plagued by a grave acceptance, and Ducky just seemed perfectly intrigued with the entire situation. "This is a lot heavier than we're used to dealing with," Abby said quietly, fiddling with her dog collar.

"This is life or death," Ziva added.

"The fate of the world is resting on our shoulders," McGee whispered, barely loud enough for the room at large to hear. Silence echoed in autopsy for a long moment right before anyone else spoke.

"So," Tony said, grinning mirthlessly at the room at large. "Shall we?" This earned smirks from his teammates and the Winchester brothers. Castiel bowed his head.

"I'll take my leave. If any of you have need of me, call my name and request my presence. If I am not already occupied, I will come to your aid." He let his hands drop to his side, and with another sound of rustling and the feel of a crisp breeze, the man who was apparently an angel disappeared.

"Shouldn't he have wings?" Tony questioned with a tilt of his head. "A halo or something? White toga? Harp?"

"He's got wings," Sam replied. "You just can't see them most of the time."

"When you do see 'em though," Dean whistled appreciatively. "Pretty bad ass."

"What's the next step?" Gibbs asked, breaking his characteristic silence. The NCIS crew looked at him in surprise. Gibbs was always the one who knew what to do next. "I know this is your expertise, not mine**.**" he said, blue eyes looking to Dean and Sam for further guidance.

"We need to establish a safe house, first off. Demon-proof the crap out of it and hope for the best," Dean said. "Needs to be somewhere way out of the way. You got a place in mind?"

"I got a fishing cabin in the woods to the north of here," Gibbs offered up. "That good enough?"

"How many people can it hold?"

Blank stare. "One."

"Think we could hook up some cots, maybe? You and McGee are going to have to crash together, along with Sam and I until we get rid of Orochi," he said. Gibbs seemed less than pleased about this, but he didn't vocalize this feeling. Tony knew that his boss wasn't big on sleepovers, as was a part of his loner nature.

"We'll pick up some cots," he agreed.

"What can we do?" Abby said anxiously, bouncing on her feet.

"You guys and Sam need to find the witch who summoned Orochi," Dean said, glancing sideways at his brother. "He knows what to do. Listen to him, and you'll be fine. McGee, Sam, no matter what, don't leave the building. Sam, demon-proof the place as best you can, but don't take too long. Ducky can keep working on Belisarius, see if he can find any more clues. If you guys need to go into the field, let Tony and Ziva do it."

"Isn't McGee supposed to be super strong now, from the poison?" Tony asked. "He can just throw a bus at the thing if anything comes at him."

"This is serious, Tony." McGee frowned.

"Relax, McGee, I'm just messing with you. Whatever we have to do to keep you and the boss safe, we'll do." His eyes widened slightly at the look he received from Gibbs. "Not that you need protecting, boss."

Gibbs smirked before looking at Dean. "Ready to go?" The young man nodded.

"Sam, hold down the fort**.**" Dean said, tapping his brother on the shoulder as he followed Gibbs out of autopsy.

Tony looked around the room, meeting Ducky, Ziva, Abby, McGee and Sam's eyes individually before clapping his hands together. "Let the demon-hunting fun begin!"

* * *

_A/N: Reviews would be loved. :)_


	5. But Home is Nowhere

**Chapter 4: But Home is Nowhere**

_A/N: Thank you all for the feedback so far, and a big thanks to my beta Wolfpack pride for all of her help. Oh, and a note to the NCIS fans, in case you haven't heard, Cote de Pablo did not renew her contract for season eleven. So, for non-Ziva fans, rejoice! For Ziva fans like myself, well, I'll be in my corner, crying away._

_Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or Supernatural._

* * *

Dean took in the small fishing cabin, which had no TV, no running water, and as Gibbs had mentioned, was definitely built for only one person. It was in the woods about fifteen miles out of DC, surrounded by an idyllic lake and thick evergreen forest. In the dictionary, under the word 'secluded', he was pretty sure this was pictured.

Gibbs was a little ahead of him on the path, searching through the keys on his key chain to find the one that opened the door to the one room cabin. The Impala was pulled up close to the house, two cots piled into the back. There was already one bed and a couch inside, so thankfully they only needed just the two.

"You don't like people too much, do you Gibbs?" Dean asked as he came to stand behind the NCIS agent. Gibbs half-smiled in response, but said nothing. "You come out here often?"

"When I need to think," he replied as the door swung open, revealing the wooden interior. It wasn't much - a narrow bed in the corner, a small fridge, table, and couch, and a large fireplace. If they pushed the couch against wall, there would be enough room for the two cots, but it would be a tight squeeze.

"Oven?" Dean questioned, gesturing to the lonely fridge.

"Just use the fireplace," Gibbs answered with a shrug, dropping his bag filled with three days worth of clothes on the bed. Dean dropped his own duffel on the couch. He'd let McGee and Sam have them when they arrived there later that night. "What exactly are you going to do to try and keep this Orochi thing out?" Gibbs inquired.

"I can spray paint demon protection sigils onto the door, spread salt lines in front of all the entrances, enough to at least slow the son of a bitch down if it shows up. Hopefully this place is far enough out you won't need to worry," he explained, removing the proper tools from his backpack and setting to work on the front door.

"Your angel friend said that there had to be twenty four hours before the demon could possess whoever it bit," Gibbs said. "So, until 1300 tomorrow, it won't come back. There any point in this?"

"Strong demon like that has probably made a few enemies. They hear that we've been marked, they might try and take us out so the Orochi can't harvest our souls. Thankfully, this stuff'll work a hell of a lot better against them," Dean told him as he continued spray painting the pentagram. "You're in the big leagues now, Gibbs. Everyone's out to kick your ass."

"I'm used to it," Gibbs said. Dean let out a short laugh. Old man hadn't changed much since the last time he'd seen him.

"So, how've you been, Gibbs?" Dean asked. "New team seems... different."

"Different how?" the older man responded with a tilt of head.

"Looks like you've got an aging frat boy, the last one picked for gym class, and what I'm pretty damn sure is the chick I saw on the front of last month's Playboy. What happened to Blackadder and Burley?" he inquired.

"Reassigned," Gibbs explained. "They're good at what they do. Best people for the job," he said, and by the sound of his voice, Dean hazarded a guess that he meant it.

"You care about them a lot," Dean said, making it more of a statement than a question. "I saw the way you threw yourself on Ziva back at that Marine guy's apartment. Takes a lot of balls to open yourself up to being demon chow like that."

"Avery Belisarius," Gibbs corrected.

"What?"

"The 'Marine guy's' name," he elaborated. "It was Avery Belisarius."

"Right, sorry," Dean said as he finished off the protection on the door. "Not a bad way to get off the subject, either." He received no response from Gibbs as he sprinkled salt along the windowsill and doorways. "Still pretending you're a bastard?"

"Pretending?"

"Oh, come on Gibbs, I know how much you care about your team," he said. "It's a lot more obvious than you think it is."

"I'll make sure to slap DiNozzo more often," Gibbs said as Dean emptied his salt supply. "You done?"

"Yeah, but let's head back to the car for a second. I think we need to hook you up with an anti-demon weapon as long as Orochi's running around," Dean said, exiting the cabin with Gibbs following close behind. Once back at the car, Dean threw open the trunk, and Gibbs' eyes widened at the arsenal inside. Shotguns, knives, handguns, rifles, gasoline, several gallons of holy water, talismans, anti-possession charms... he was proud of what he and Sam had amassed over the years. They could take on a small army if they wanted to.

"Christmas comes early," Gibbs muttered.

* * *

"So," Abby said, spinning slightly in her lab stool. "How exactly do we track down a witch?"

"We could look under a few houses," Tony suggested from where he and McGee hovered protectively behind Abby. "Ruby slippers can't be too hard to find."

"That's easily the fifteenth movie reference I've heard you make since Dean and Gibbs left," Sam said, somewhat exasperated. "Is he always like this?" he asked, directing the question at Abby.

"He's actually going easy compared to normal," she said honestly. "Tony kind of turns everything up to eleven."

"Part of my charm," he replied with a smirk. "Back on task, Hagrid. How do we find the wicked witch of DC?"

Sam brushed past the nickname with a roll of his eyes. "A witch powerful enough to summon a demon like Orochi, there's going to be signs. Witches - the bad ones, anyway, a lot of the time they need people for spells, rituals, sacrifices. If they're sadistic enough, just to experiment on... or torture." McGee paled significantly at this, rubbing the bandage on his neck nervously. "They have to get their victims from somewhere. Strings of inexplicable disappearances are generally a good place to start. Nine times out of ten, they try and take someone that nobody is going to miss."

"Runaways, transients, prostitutes," Abby surmised, tapping away on her computer.

"Check all of DC, Arlington, Norfolk, Bethesda... the whole shebang," Tony said, receiving a questioning look from Sam. "Your angel friend never said anything about the witch being based out of DC."

"True," Sam conceded. "You guys got a spare computer I can use? If I can get in contact with my friend Bobby, he can let me know if he's heard about anything weird going on here."

"Can't you just use your phone?" McGee asked, narrowing his eyes at the hunter. Sam retrieved his phone from his pocket and tossed it to McGee, who caught it in midair.

"It's fried," Sam explained as McGee tried fruitlessly to turn it one. "Something about the Orochi's aura screws with electronics, I guess. Dean, Gibbs and Ziva's cell phones are dead, too."

"You can use the computer in my office, Sam," Abby said, pointing towards the glass sliding door on the other side of her lab. He nodded his thanks and made his way there. Once the door had closed behind him, Tony huffed slightly.

"I'm still not buying this," he said, leaning on the lab table. "I mean, come on. None of this makes any sense."

"It makes sense, Tony," Abby said with a frown. "You're just not willing to suspend your disbelief and realize it."

"Tony's right, Abs," McGee pointed out, surprising Tony by agreeing with him for once. "It all seems just a little unbelievable."

"You're the one who had a demon jump on you and sample the McGee lunch special," she said. "You have all the proof in the world."

"There's... reasonable explanations for what happened..." McGee argued unconvincingly.

"Really angry cat?" Tony offered up as he leaned over Abby's shoulder to read the police report she had just pulled up.

"Explain Castiel randomly appearing in autopsy," Abby said. "He came out of nowhere."

"Uh, Gibbs does that on a daily basis and he's _definitely_ not an angel," Tony replied. "Listen, I'm not denying that something weird's going on... and this demon thing, okay, maybe it's real. Maybe even the angel thing, too. Maybe the whole paranormal spiel is a hundred percent authentic... but I still don't like that we're blindly trusting the jolly green giant and some guy who looks like he just stepped out of a Calvin Klein underwear commercial."

"I told you earlier, Tony," Abby said. "Gibbs worked a case with Dean and his father about ten years ago. Hunting runs in their family. If it hadn't been for Dean, Gibbs and Stan probably would've been demon chow."

"How come Gibbs never mentioned this?" McGee asked, looking over Abby's other shoulder.

"Well gee, Tim, probably because no one would have believed him!" Abby exclaimed, exasperated. "I mean, he only told me because he knew that I already believed in the stuff."

"I had the crime scene photos developed," Ziva's voice jarred the three of them from their reading, and they turned to see the Israeli entering the lab, packet of photos in hand. She looked around the lab with some confusion. "Where is Sam?"

"My office," Abby provided. "He's trying to get a hold of one of his friends."

Ziva nodded before heading into the office in pursuit of Sam. The three of them turned back to the lab computer. "Any particular reason McVampire and I aren't doing this in the bullpen?" Tony asked.

"Vance," her and McGee said simultaneously.

"Ah," Tony said. Well, that made sense. From what he had seen in the past two years, Vance didn't trust Gibbs as far as he could throw him most of the time. They had that weird wink-wink-nudge-nudge-Bob's-your-uncle thing going on, but Tony had a feeling that repertoire wouldn't extend far enough for Gibbs to be able to convince Vance that the Lance Corporal had been consumed by some kind of evil demon.

"It looks like this could be promising," McGee said as the three of them finished reading the police report. "Over the past two years, twelve people have gone missing within a three block radius of a bar called Damascus in Anacostia. All of them are the kind of people that no one would miss. Not to mention there's a homeless shelter just next door," he added.

"Promising," Abby agreed.

"How far apart are the disappearances?" Tony asked. McGee put his arms around Abby so he could type himself. A few moments later, he had their answer.

"The biggest gap between disappearances was three months between the first and second abductions," he answered. "Looks like she was getting a feel for it, if it really was a witch that did this."

"Hey," the three of them turned in unison to see Sam leaning out the door. "I've got my friend on the line, you guys are probably going to want to hear this."

The three of them followed Sam back into Abby's office, where Ziva was seated on the edge of the forensic scientist's desk, looking at the screen. Sam stood, allowing Abby to take a seat in front of the computer. Tony stood between Sam and Ziva, and McGee took up Sam's other side.

The man on the screen looked... well, he looked like a mildly inebriated redneck truck driver. "You the feds?" he asked. Tony nodded.

"That's us," he replied.

"Bobby Singer," he introduced himself with a tip of his baseball cap.

"I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, this is Probationary Agent Ziva David, the pasty looking guy is Agent McGee, and the lovely lady sitting in front of you is Abby Sciuto," he rattled of their names.

"Nice to meet you," Bobby said. "Sam says that you guys are looking for a witch. Damn powerful one, too."

"Did Sam fill you in on the Orochi demon that Castiel told all of us about?" Abby asked.

"Yup. Sounds like a pretty nasty son of a bitch. I've never come across anything like it before. Anyway, point is, I think I know who you need to be looking for. There's only a few witches floating around now these days that would be strong enough to catch Crowley's attention, assuming he's the one behind this, not to mention powerful enough to summon the thing."

"Who do you think it is, Bobby?" Sam asked.

"Her name's Irena Lund. No clue how old she is, can't hardly tell from recent pictures, but supposedly she's pushing into her hundreds. Origin's foggy, but according to my sources she emigrated to Canada from the former Soviet Union in the late 1940s. Rumor has it, few years back, she set her sights on the US. Word is she's been on the East Coast. There've been a few sightings of her in NYC, Baltimore... and DC."

"Right in our backyard," Tony muttered. "Joy."

"I can't find much else on her, just that she's one dangerous bitch. May just be hearsay, but supposedly she leveled the entire village she grew up in at age twelve. In other words, when you run into her, watch your backs," he warned, casting a concerned look at Sam. "You and your brother need anything else?"

"I think we're okay for now," Sam said. "If we have any problems, either Dean or I will let you know. Before I sign off, do you know _anything_ about Orochi? Have you ever even heard of it?" he asked.

"Heard of it in the way you hear about Paul Bunyan carving the Grand Canyon with his axe," Bobby grumbled in reply. "Never actually thought the thing was real, which is sayin' something, considering."

"Hopefully we can get rid of it before it gets stronger," Sam said before pointing at his bandaged neck. "We're kind of personally invested, now."

"Ain't you always?" Bobby asked with a smirk. "Alright, remember, call me if you need anything. Give your fed buddies my number too, just in case."

"Okay. Thanks, Bobby." Sam ended the video call before looking back at the four of them. "Did you guys find anything?"

"A string of disappearances over in the seedier section of Anacostia might be this Irena chick," Abby said, leading the group of them back into her lab. "Most of the kidnappings have happened to people last reported within a three block radius of a bar called Damascus, which is next door to a homeless shelter. Probably the witch's hunting ground."

"That sounds about right," Sam said. "Once Dean comes back, the four of us will go check it out."

"Why can Tony and I not just go ourselves?" Ziva asked, a slight bit indignant.

"This is more dangerous than you think," Sam said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm just saying. This is what Dean and I do, we know what we're talking about."

"It shouldn't be too long until Gibbs and your brother are back," McGee said. "Gibbs is kind of a speed equals efficiency kind of guy."

"My dad would appreciate that," Sam said softly. "Is Gibbs ex-Marine? He's got the look for it."

"There's no such thing as an ex-Marine," Tony said. Sam let out a small laugh.

"Yeah, I thought as much. Alright, in the meantime, we need to do as much research on this Orochi thing as humanly possible. I know Cas has probably got the destroying part of it under control, but it wouldn't hurt to read up on this."

"Read up on what?" The five of them turned around at the same time as they heard the voice at the doorway to Abby's lab.

Vance was standing, arms crossed, looking very displeased to see a complete stranger with no authorization and no visitor's badge in the forensics lab.

"Director! How nice to see you..."


	6. Search and Destroy

**Chapter 5: Search and Destroy**

_A/N: A big thank you to all of you who have read, reviewed, followed and favorited! Also, thank you to my beta, Wolfpack pride, for helping me make this insane idea a reality._

_Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or Supernatural, but if Mark Sheppard is up for grabs, I'll take him._

* * *

Gibbs fired off a test shot with one of the sawed-off shotguns that had been in the armory in the back of Dean's car, getting the feel for the gun with rock-salt rounds. "Recoil's not too bad. You make these, or you buy 'em?"

"Made these ones, but if you know the right people you can buy them, too," Dean explained as he gathered up several shotgun shells from the trunk before handing them to Gibbs. "Keep these with you at all times. Until we put this to bed, you need to have an anti-demon gun on you." Next, Dean handed him a flask. "This too. Holy water. On the Orochi demon, it'll give it a run for a little bit, on any other demon it'll burn like hell."

Gibbs nodded, pocketing the holy water. Dean reached into the trunk one last time and withdrew a necklace with a pentacle charm and tossed it to him. He looked at it with a dubious eye. "Jewelry?" he questioned.

"It'll keep you from being possessed by another demon. By the sounds of what Cas told us, it won't do shit against the Orochi, but at least it'll keep you from being turned into a meat-suit in the meantime," Dean explained as he made his way back to the driver's seat. "You sure you can conceal that shotgun? I don't want your boss asking us questions we can't answer."

Gibbs slipped the necklace over his neck and tucked it under his shirt, grabbed the holster for the shotgun and strapped it onto himself, then slid the weapon inside. He adjusted it so it was on the small of his back, tucked under both his coat and his collared shirt, one of the benefits of always wearing four layers of clothing. "No problem."

Gibbs got back into the Impala, and Dean started trundling down the dirt road that led away from the cabin and back into the city. They drove in silence. Dean had the radio turned on, and the music was decent enough that Gibbs' didn't have a problem with it. The older Winchester must have remembered from their meeting ten years ago that he wasn't much of a talker, though Gibbs did have a few questions for the Hunter.

"So, tell me about this apocalypse that's supposed to happen... 'Michael and Lucifer's impending battle'..." he quoted Castiel.

"It's a long story," Dean said, pursing his lips.

"Make it short."

"Basically, Sam is Lucifer's destined vessel, and I'm Michael's. Heaven and Hell duke it out, bring on the end of the world. Problem is, Sam and I have to agree to be their vessels, which we're sure as hell not going to do, but we've got demons and angels after us trying to, uh, _persuade _us differently," Dean explained. "We're kind of in deep trouble as it is, Gibbs. This on top of it, well, it's the cherry on the crap sundae."

"Anyway you can stop it?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah, well, we thought if we shot Lucifer with a specific Colt made by Samuel Colt himself that supposedly can kill any supernatural being, we'd be good. Least that's what Crowley told us," Dean growled. "The Colt can hurt him, but it doesn't kill him. Me and Sam went out on a limb and assumed that Crowley lied to us."

"And he's the one who Castiel thinks summoned Orochi."

"Uh-huh. We're looking for other ways to stop the battle between Lucifer and Michael, right now, we're just kind of running low on good plans." Dean sighed, and Gibbs noted that he suddenly looked aged beyond his years. "We'll figure something out. We always do. Sam, Cas and I - we can handle it."

After that, the ride was mostly uneventful, until Gibbs' eyes found their way to a dark blue sedan that he had noticed when they first reentered the city. It had followed them for the past three blocks, and it was staying a steady three car lengths behind them, trying hard to look like it _wasn't _following them. Dead giveaway.

"Looks like we've got company," he said and Dean nodded his head stiffly. He knew that the younger man had been watching the car in the rearview mirror like a hawk. He sped up the car experimentally, heading down a random alley in what was either an attempt to shake their pursuers or get them off of a public street for the fight he could feel coming.

"Hope you've got a hang of that gun, Gibbs," Dean said. "Because I have a feeling those guys want a little more than a friendly chat."

He removed his SIG from his holster, and Dean settled his hand on the butt of the sawed-off shotgun that was strapped to his leg. He sped up slightly, weaving from side street to side street, the blue sedan accelerating to keep up with them. "You and Ziva would get along well," Gibbs commented as Dean took a sharp corner and he was thrown into the passenger door of the Impala.

"Why?" Dean asked gruffly.

"This is how she drives on a normal day." He punctuated the sentence by rolling down the window, leaning out with his gun in hand.

"Whoa, what the hell are you doing?"

"Stopping them from following us," Gibbs said, firing off three shots in quick succession at the front wheels of the sedan, and all three shots hit home. The vehicle skidded out of control, crashing into a fire hydrant that Dean had only narrowly avoided. The hydrant burst open, spraying the entire section of the sidewalk with water. The sedan had been stopped dead in its tracks. "Floor it!" Gibbs said when Dean looked as though he was about to brake.

"If we don't take care of them now, they'll just come after us later!" Dean exclaimed.

"If we get caught in a firefight with two demons that look like people in the middle of the street, the director is going to be asking me questions I can't answer. Get us the hell out of here!" Gibbs commanded, using a tone that would have made Tony and McGee hide under a table. Unfortunately, Dean didn't seem to be as strongly affected.

"If we don't get those bastards now, we'll regret it later. You see their eyes? Black as goddamn night," he said as he jammed his foot down, halting the car, and hopped out of the driver's side, shotgun already lifted in front of him. Gibbs let out an irritated sigh before following suit.

"Use the shotgun!" Dean yelled. "Your SIG's useless against the demon, it'll just bloody up the host."

Gibbs ignored Dean for a moment, raising his SIG and pointing it at the traffic cam above them. He narrowed his eyes through the crosshairs and a landed a clean shot at the lens, shattering it into a millions pieces. Then he holstered his SIG and removed the sawed-off shotgun from the holster on his back, bringing it up and firing off a shot at the balding man with pitch black eyes who had just scrambled out of the inoperative Sedan. The demon's head erupted in a spray of blood, and the body fell to the ground with a thump. The one that had been driving had an M4, but before his finger could find the trigger, Dean dispatched him with a well-placed shot to the chest. The two demons were both on the ground, now. Dean raced up, the same knife he'd had earlier in his hand, and stabbed them hard in the back, first one, then the other. Electricty arced from the blade, and the bodies went still.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?" Dean asked, sheathing his weapon and walking back to the Impala. "Nice shot on the camera, by the way."

"You just going to leave the bodies there?"

"Normally, I'd do something with them, but if what Cas told us is true we're kinda running on a tight schedule here," Dean said. "Plus, those were just the first of many. We don't want to stick around here."

"They're after us because that Orochi thing bit us?" Gibbs asked, and Dean nodded as they pulled onto the road that ran along the Potomac, leading back to the Navy Yard.

"Yeah. They don't want that thing rising up anymore than we do. Apocalypse is bad enough, but being enslaved by something a million times more powerful than you is something that demons and humans both don't like. Since we're the Orochi's future hosts..."

"They want to get us out of the way," Gibbs finished, giving Dean and appraising look. "This normal for you and your brother?"

Dean let out something that was a cross between a laugh and a sigh. "What can I say? The paranormal _is _our normal."

Gibbs snorted. "We've got to come up with some kind of cover for you and your brother, or we're going to have a problem. What ID do you have on you now?" Gibbs asked.

"The ones we brought to the house with us were FBI, but we've got dozens back at the motel. ATF, FDA, NSA, CIA, CDC, Federal Marshals, Homeland Security, Coast Guard, Customs - hell, I think one of the only federal IDs we don't have are for NCIS." He smirked. "Going to need to change that."

"FBI will work for a little while, so long as Director Vance doesn't check with the higher ups over at the Hoover building. 'Course I suppose if this isn't cleared up in a week, you and I will be dead anyway, so you don't really need a deep cover," Gibbs said.

"Thanks for that ray of sunshine," Dean muttered as they traveled along the steadily flowing Potomac. "We've got the right ID and the fed suits, should last us long enough to catch this joker."

"Better hope so," Gibbs said as they pulled into the parking garage and Dean turned off the Impala. Just as he stepped out, his phone rang. He checked the caller ID. "Come on, Abby's got something for us."

* * *

"Director! How nice to see you..." Tony said, quickly adopting a grin and taking a large step to stand in front of Abby's computer, blocking it from Vance's view. He felt McGee, Abby and Ziva tense visibly next to him.

"You care to tell me what's going on here, Special Agent DiNozzo?" Vance asked, eyeing him with outright suspicion. However, before Tony could drum up an appropriate lie that wouldn't put him on the receiving end of a head smack from Gibbs later, Sam took the initiative, removing what Tony identified to be an FBI ID from the pocket of his suit jacket.

"Director, I'm Special Agent Anderson from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I'm here to look into your current case in relation to a series of serial killings in the Midwest. The modus operandi is similar," Sam said smoothly, and Tony had to admire the man's skill to concoct such a convincing lie on the spot like that.

"I wasn't made aware that the FBI would be involved in this case," Vance said slowly as he strolled into the center of Abby's lab.

"We just got this case about two hours ago, Director," Ziva said. "And... Agent Anderson just arrived. We are currently doing a comparative crime analysis to see if it could possibly be the same killer." _Comparative crime analysis, very nice, _Tony thought.

"Does Gibbs know he's here?" Vance asked, still not seeming terribly convinced.

"Gibbs is taking Agent Shirley, my partner, to the crime scene," Sam answered. "They should be back any second, now."

"Fornell brought them over, told Gibbs what was going on. Sorry we forgot to fill you in, Director," Tony said, a fake apology in his voice.

"And why exactly are you all down here and not in the squad room at your desks?" he pressed with the raise of an eyebrow.

"It's... kind of hot up there, you know, with the sky lights, and Agent Anderson here is very sensitive to heat and sun so we uh... we set up shop down here." Okay, it wasn't his best, but it was all he could come up with at the moment. Sam and the others nodded their heads fervently in agreement.

"Sensitive to heat and the sun," Vance repeated. "It's January."

"Mid-January," Abby pointed out.

"Late January," the director corrected, seeming not at all pleased with the group of them. "When Gibbs comes back from wherever the hell he _actually _is, tell him I want him in my office ASAP."

"Of course, Director," Tony said with a nod of his head. Vance, casting them one last glance, exited the lab. They all let out one simultaneous sigh of relief. "Abs, call Gibbs and find out how close he and Dean are. We need to fill him in on this Irena chick before Vance reams him out." His eyes flitted towards Sam for a moment. "Nice cover back there, by the way."

Sam shrugged in response as Abby took out her phone. "I'm used to it. Dean and I use the FBI as a cover a lot." He removed a fake ID from his pocket and flashed it at Tony. He had to admit, it looked completely legitimate to him. "Most people don't react that well when you say you're hunting demons. Not to mention... well... Dean and are I supposed to be dead."

"How's that?" McGee asked, brow furrowed.

"Uh, well, it's kind of a long story..."

"Gibbs?" Abby said as she got their boss on the other line. "Yeah, we've found our witch. At least, we think we've found our witch. Well, I guess she's not really _our _witch, but... okay, we're waiting for you." She hung up the phone. "Bossman and Dean just got back, they'll be up in a minute or two."

"Do you and your brother have a lot of experience with witches?" McGee asked, gesturing at the police report still up on the computer. "Because I can honestly say that we've never dealt with anything like this before."

"Yeah, are we dealing with more _Hocus Pocus _or _The Devil Rides Out_?" Tony inquired. Apparently Sam hadn't heard of either movies, if his confused expression was any indication. "I mean, what kind of threat are they?"

"A big one," Sam answered darkly. "Dean and I have dealt with witches before, and we've only managed to actually kill a few of them. Generally, witches gain there powers by selling their souls to demons. They've got every nasty power in the book and they'll do anything to achieve their goals - murder, infanticide, cannibalism, human sacrifices... in other words, not pleasant. Most of them are hundreds of years old, since they can cast immortality spells on themselves."

"Immortality?" Tony repeated incredulously. "Wait a minute, don't we have to kill her in order to stop this Orochi thing from being summoned again as soon as we get rid of it?"

"You are mixing up immortality and invincibility, Tony," Ziva said. "It means that she will never die of natural causes, but she can still be hurt."

"She's right," Sam agreed. "Only problem is getting close enough to kill her before she kills us."

"How likely is that, exactly?" McGee asked worriedly.

"Pretty likely," Sam answered with a frown. "They're dangerous. The main thing you need to watch out for are hex bags." At the confused looks of himself, McGee, and Ziva, Sam began to explain. "Hex bags are-"

"Ooh, ooh, let me!" Abby said, bouncing up and down on her platforms. Sam smiled at her slightly, gesturing for her to continue. "A hex bag is a charm composed of a mixture of herbs, talismans, and other supernatural-y ingredients placed in a piece of cloth and then bound with leather. It's used to bring about a specific effect, usually a bad one, but not always. A hex bag intended to harm someone also contains a personal belonging of the intended victim, usually clothing, jewelry, something like that. Supposedly, the only ways to stop a hex bag is to find and burn it, have the witch casting the spell break it, or have a powerful counter-spell cast."

Sam seemed impressed by her knowledge. "That's pretty much the long and short of it." McGee seemed more concerned by her intimate knowledge of witchcraft.

"Abby, how do you know so much about this?"

Abby merely gave him a wicked grin in response. "Oh, Timmy, the stories I could tell you." McGee gulped nervously in response.

"How 'bout you tell me a story instead, Abs?" Gibbs asked, coming into the lab with Dean following close behind.

"We might've found the witch who summoned Orochi, Gibbs," Abby said, spinning in her stool and bringing up the police report on the plasma screen, knowing Gibbs' eyesight difficulties. Gibbs scanned over it, Dean doing the same next to him.

"I talked to Bobby," Sam said. "He says it sounds like a witch named Irena Lund who's been rumored to be on the east coast." Dean spun around in a flash upon hearing this.

"Irena Lund?" he repeated. "You've got to be kidding."

"Friend of yours?" Tony asked dryly with an arched eyebrow.

"She's in dad's notebook. He ran into her 'bout twenty years back, when Sam and I were still kids. Nearly killed our old man, left him a few nasty-ass scars to boot. He said that she's got powers that he'd never seen before, that there wasn't any human left in her. He was half-convinced she was a demon instead of a witch." Dean shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "This is not good."

"I'm pretty sure this was 'not good' before now," Tony said. "What's the next step, boss?"

"Should we not do more research on the Orochi?" Ziva asked from where she stood beside Abby.

"We're pressed for time, Ziva," Gibbs said before turning his back on the plasma screen and facing his team and the Winchester brothers. "This is the only thing we have that's even close to a lead. Two of us stakeout, two of us go in undercover to see what they can dig up from the regulars at the bar, the workers at the homeless shelter."

"Why not just go into question them as usual? Why do we need to go undercover?" Ziva inquired.

"The people in that part of town don't really react all that well to cops," Tony said. "It'll be a lot easier to get them to talk if we just seem like your average, impoverished bar patron." He then grinned at Gibbs. "Since I'm the senior field agent and the team's resident undercover specialist, I assume I'm going into the bar, boss?"

Gibbs seemed to be on the verge of smirking at him as he responded. "No, no... Ziva's going into the bar. You'll be playing a homeless guy, beggin' on the street corner."

"Oh. That's..." _Demeaning._"That's great. Fantastic."


	7. Harvester of Sorrow

**Chapter 6: Harvester of Sorrow**

_A/N: Big thanks to everyone for all of the feedback, and as usual a thank you to my partner in crime/beta, Wolfpack pride._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or NCIS, but I have a few seasons on DVD... does that count?_

* * *

"Boss," Tony whispered so that the wire would pick up his voice. "This place smells like old feet."

"Deal with it, DiNozzo," Gibbs responded into the microphone. While Tony continued ramble, he took of the headset and handed it to Dean. "You really want to help?" The hunter nodded. "Make him shut up."

"This isn't in my job description," he muttered before putting on the headset. "It's Dean. Yeah. I know. I know that too. Well, Sam and I have had to do way worse. You do realize everyone who walks past you is going to think you're talking to yourself? Hey, I've met homeless dudes that don't talk to themselves. Some of them are down and out, not insane. How the hell should I know?"

Gibbs smirked as he listened to Dean's side of the conversation and made his way through a burger, having gotten fast food for himself and Dean before the stakeout began. He had known when he had brought the Winchester brothers into the investigation that Dean and Tony's personalities would clash in an amusing fashion. He decided that by the time this was all over, either ending with them defeating the Orochi or ending in their untimely deaths, the two men would either be best friends or worst enemies.

After Gibbs and Dean had arrived back at NCIS and been briefed on Irena Lund and what appeared to be her hunting grounds, Gibbs had the delight of spending an hour up in Vance's office weaving what he personally thought to be a particularly convincing lie as to why he hadn't given him a heads up about the 'FBI' and why they needed to consult on the rest of the investigation, even though they were fairly sure that the serial killer from the Midwest was not involved in Lance Corporal Belisarius' murder.

However, they had hit a bump in the road. Ducky had been down in autopsy trying to come up with a reasonable cause of death for the Lance Corporal, and Vance was waiting. The fact was, there wasn't really a decent way to explain away someone being ripped apart limb from limb and a solid eighty percent of their body being turned into dog food. Vance was looking for answers, and the ones they had weren't going to cut it. He imagined the director wouldn't take 'a demon did it' very well.

So, right now, Ducky and Abby were doing a wonderful job of stalling him and trying to come up with a decent reason why a very violent, rabid wolverine could have made its way into the apartment and massacred the Lance Corporal. He didn't envy them their position.

The mid-fall sun was currently inching its way towards the horizon. It was around 1900 hours. They had spent most of the afternoon in the bullpen researching the Orochi. Or rather, Tony had been researching the Orochi while he had McGee and Ziva checking up on witch lore.

By the time the six of them had left NCIS to stakeout Damascus and the homeless shelter, McGee and Ziva's eyes had been wide, apparently not thrilled with what they discovered about witches. Tony had filled them in on what he had learned about the Orochi in the bullpen before they left for Anacostia.

"So, like your angel buddy told us earlier, the Orochi demon, according to Japanese mythology... or not-so-mythology, the Yamata-no-Orochi is an eight headed snake serpent. It's favorite past times include eating people and destroying everything in sight," Tony explained, seeming wholly displeased by the information he had gleaned about the monster they were facing.

"How's the old myth go?" Sam said. "It might give us some idea of how to kill it."

"Well, when the angel Susano was in exile from Heaven, he found a couple and their daughter crying by a river. They explained why they're crying to him. Apparently, every year, the Orochi came to devour one of their daughters. That year, they had to give up their eighth and final daughter. To save her, Susano proposed to the daughter. When she accepted, he transformed her into a comb that he carried in his hair. He told the girl's parents they had to brew sake and refine it eight times. They had to also build an enclosure with eight gates, each of which included a vat of sake," Tony explained. McGee snorted slightly.

"This sounds right up your alley, Tony."

"Shut it, McCheeky. When the Orochi arrived, he was lured in towards the sake, and he dipped each of his heads into one of the vats. He got drunk off of the sake, and that allowed Susano to slay the thing and cut it to pieces. I couldn't find anything more specific on how he killed the thing."

"Great," Dean growled. "The one part we need to know the most. Guess we'll just have to count on Cas for that."

"Wait, one more thing. Apparently, when Susano cut open the Orochi, there was this blade inside of it called the Kusunagi. He presented it to the Japanese sun god Amaterasu as a gift," he told the room at large before he finished donning his outfit - rugged, too-big clothing with holes and an interesting smell to it accompanied by a watch cap and a very convincing fake beard. He sniffed himself experimentally. He had to admit, he felt a small pang of pity for his senior field agent. The outfit smelled like mothballs and shame.

"A sword? Perhaps that is what we need to defeat the Orochi?" Ziva proposed.

"Yeah, well, a sword is generally used to kill. Which means we either a) let Gibbs, McGee, Sam and Dean get turned into soul food by the Orochi, or b) we kill one of them while the Orochi is in there bodies. I don't know about you, but I kind of like them alive, so..."

"I like living," McGee said in a small voice.

"Well, if Cas decides to grace us with his presence, we'll see what he knows about the Kusanagi. Chances are if the sun god's still got it, it's not going to be easy to find," Dean said, shouldering his bag. "Can we get out of here already? Your boss is only gonna buy that we're FBI for so long, and I don't really want to be around when he calls the man in charge over at the Hoover building."

"Let's go," Gibbs said, and from there, himself, Dean, Tony, and Ziva had taken the surveillance van to the homeless shelter and bar in Anacostia, while Sam and McGee took the Impala back to Gibbs' fishing cabin. Gibbs and Dean would be taking the first twelve hour ship providing back up to Tony and Ziva, should they need it, and keeping an eye on the area. Meanwhile, Sam and McGee would be eating their dinner and trying to get some shut-eye, all the while avoiding demons. McGee had been given a shotgun with rock-salt shells as well, just as Gibbs had.

So, here they were, waiting for something to happen to either Tony or Ziva, waiting for one of them to see something suspicious, to see a sign of the witch. It would've helped if they had some kind of description of what she looked like outside of John Winchester's description of 'pretty damn gorgeous' in his journal.

"I'm getting off now. Yeah, I've seen _Evil Dead. _No. No. And no. I'm going. Bye." Dean passed the headset back to Gibbs. "I'm just a man, Gibbs."

"Welcome to my world," he said, placing the headset back on his head, not intending on leaving DiNozzo unsupervised. His senior field agent seemed to have settled down somewhat, as all he could hear in the headphones was the steady sound of Tony's breathing. He offered Dean the other headset. "This is Ziva's. You keep an ear on her, I'll watch DiNozzo."

"You're a saint," he said, placing the headset over his ears. "Agent David? Can you hear me?" There was a short pause. "How're things looking in there?" Dean nodded as Ziva spoke. "Just don't act too classy, alright? A chick like you in a bar like that's already sticking out, you need to blend in."

That much was true. Damascus was about as low brow as they came - the kind that the alcohol distribution license on the wall was eight years expired and there were generally a hundred flies for every person there. Not a place you would find a woman who looked like Ziva.

The next few hours passed by in a blur of the two of them alternating between occasional talk about the demon, or what the Winchester brothers had been up to for the past few years. Dean told Gibbs about his father's death in more detail, about how he died at the hands of the yellow-eyed demon. Once that was explained, the two men resigned themselves to a mostly consistent silence, something that neither of them had much of a problem with. It was only interrupted by sporadic reports from Tony and Ziva.

Ziva had been consistently hit on by every man with a pulse since she had walked into the bar, since as Dean had so deftly pointed out 'a chick like her in a bar like that' was bound to draw some attention. Tony chimed every now and then to report on one of the passing by vagrants or complain about his current situation. Gibbs would just growl something threatening enough to shut the agent up for a little bit, then roll his eyes. Tony was one of, if not _the_best agent he had ever worked with - but man, did he whine.

Finally, at midnight, Tony let them know that he was going to head inside of the shelter to grab a mattress, scope out the inside, and catch some sleep. "Do I get to keep the change I got today? I think I've made a solid six or seven dollars..." Gibbs didn't reply for a long period of time, and then he heard a sharp slap on the other end. "This one's on me, boss."

"Sweet dreams, DiNozzo," Gibbs said as he watched the disguised man slink inside the homeless shelter, which was suffused with warm yellow light, and a sign that proclaimed 'open all night'.

He leaned back into his seat in the van, letting out a small sigh as he listened to Dean checking in with Ziva, whom he was now on a first name basis with. They seemed to be getting on fairly well, actually, in the moments where Ziva wasn't occupied by one of the unpleasant men in the bar. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, fighting off his growing fatigue. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

McGee soon found out that for a 6' 4" giant who spent his time killing monsters, Sam Winchester was stunningly... normal. He wasn't how he thought he would be. He thought he'd be surly, probably a bit paranoid, and overall silent, but the younger Winchester actually provided pleasant conversation over the course of the day. Honestly, he liked Sam. It also helped to know that Sam and his brother would be very motivated to save him and Gibbs, since they had been put in exactly the same boat when they themselves were bitten by the Orochi.

Speaking of, he was beginning to feel some of the side effects of the Orochi's venom. When they arrived at Gibbs' fishing cabin, he had unintentionally slammed the door to the Impala too hard and ended up shattering the passenger seat window. "Oh my God," he said, backing away from the shattered glass on the ground. "I - I didn't mean to do that, I swear!"

Sam's eyes widened at the damaged window, but he assured McGee that it was no harm, no foul. "I think under the circumstances, Dean will understand," he informed him. However, the look on Sam's face told that what he had just said was more of a comforting lie. "Don't feel bad. When I used the bathroom back at NCIS I accidentally ripped one of the stall doors off of its hinges when I tried to open it."

"Guess we're just going to have to adjust to the new strength," McGee said, flexing his hand with a worried frown. What if he went to hug Abby, and he ended up breaking one of her ribs? He didn't like the idea that he could do so much damage without meaning to.

They had made their way inside, carrying in the groceries that they had picked up to stock the safe house on the way. After the fridge was loaded, they settled into a dinner of ramen noodles and warm Pepsi, sitting on the lone couch in the small cabin. He was curious about how Sam and Dean went about their chosen profession, and Sam answered his questions, for the most part, as long as they didn't stray into anything terribly personal. He could tell that the hunter's past wasn't his favorite subject.

"So you and your brother... this is your life? You go around the country and investigate cases that have something paranormal about them?" McGee asked through a mouthful of noodles.

"Pretty much," Sam responded. "What we do is a lot like you do, really, without the resources and the, you know, legally sanctioned aspect of it."

"Do you have a permanent home, or are you just always on the road? Hotels, motels..."

"The closest thing Dean and I have to a home is Bobby's place and the Impala. We didn't even really have a home growing up, after..." he trailed off, taking a sip of his drink and diverting his eyes.

"After what?" McGee asked carefully, not wanting to push the matter.

"After our mother died," he replied finally.

"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. "I didn't mean to pry."

"It's fine, I mean... I was only a baby. I don't remember her much," Sam replied, voice quiet and mournful.

"And your brother?"

"Dean remembers. I'll leave it at that."

The rest of the evening passed by without event. Sam showed him around one of the shotguns with bullets designed to work against demons, and gave him a quick tutorial on how to go about fighting a demon, if they were to encounter one other than Orochi, which was likely.

"Sam, what will happen..." McGee trailed off as he fired off another shot with the sawed-off shotgun, getting a feel for the recoil. "If... if the demon gets me? I mean, I was the first one marked after Lance Corporal Belisarius, so he - it, whatever - will go after me first."

Sam gave him a grave look before handing him a handful of shotgun shells. "We'll cross that bridge if we come to it."

Uplifting.

McGee and Sam went to bed early, knowing that they'd have to be up around four thirty to have enough time to get ready and make it to Damascus at six, when they were due to start their surveillance shift. They would trade off with Gibbs and Dean, who would take the Impala and head back to the fishing cabin to sleep while he and Sam watched over Ziva and Tony.

When they arrived, Gibbs and Dean both looked rather the worse for wear, eyes barely open, several dozen cups of coffee discarded in the surveillance van among fast food wrappers. "Quiet night, boss?"

"What do you think, McGee?" Gibbs muttered as he brushed past him. "DiNozzo's asleep still, Ziva's talking to the bartender now that the crowd's petered out. Call us if anything happens."

"Got it, boss," McGee said with a dutiful nod.

"Sammy, if I get back and people are dead, I'm gonna kick your ass," Dean said, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes in a way that made the man look much younger than McGee assumed him to be. Sam rolled his eyes and playfully shoulder-checked his brother as they switched vehicles. Sam closed the doors to the surveillance van just as he heard Dean's anguished shout when he saw the shattered window of the Impala.

McGee and Sam settled in, preparing themselves for the next twelve hours.

The morning was mostly uneventful. Activity picked up on Ziva's end as the third shift factory workers finished for the day and made their way to the bar. Ziva said that she believed the homeless shelter was being used as a hunting ground, not the bar, because she had so far seen very few females other than herself there, and none of them struck her as being particularly witch-y.

Tony woke up at ten, chatting animatedly into his thick faux beard as he made his way back outside, taking up his seat on the curb and resuming his begging. "Well, I made it through the night without being witch-napped. There were a few girls in the shelter, young runaways. There were a few female social workers running the place, too. One of them could be Irena."

By the time noon rolled around, Ziva was forced to depart the bar since it closed, and she made her way to the surveillance van, discretely slipping between the back double doors. "That was the single longest night of my entire life, and I have spent a night in a sewage ditch with a sweaty Arabic man armed with only a toothpick."

"What?" Sam asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

"She's ex-Mossad," McGee said, by way of explanation. "Israeli special forces."

"Ah," Sam said slowly. "So, no sign of anyone that could be Irena?" Ziva shook her head in response.

"Most of the women in the bar were rather... unsightly. I do not see why a witch would let herself appear as such."

"Tony thinks one of the social workers could be Irena, so at least the night wasn't completely useless," McGee said as Ziva leaned against the side of the van, eyes fluttering. "Ziva, I've got a thick jacket in my duffel bag. You can curl up under that if you want to catch some shuteye, the two of us can handle Tony."

"That sounds incredibly nice," Ziva said, punctuating the sentence by yawning noisily. She removed McGee's jacket from his bag, then used the duffel bag as a pillow as she curled up underneath his coat. She fell asleep almost instantly, her snores that sounded much like a chainsaw filling the surveillance van. Sam's eyes widened comically.

"Is that coming from _her_?" he asked incredulously. McGee nodded with a slight smile.

"Oh yeah. That's Ziva - stealthy and silent by day, obvious and obnoxious by night." Sam laughed slightly in response. McGee smiled, but his expression grew worried as he realized there was literally no noise coming from Tony on their connection - he couldn't hear his friend's breathing any longer.

"Tony? You there?" No answer. "DiNozzo!" Nothing.

He and Sam both looked simultaneously to the curb where Tony had been 'begging', and were horrified to see that he was nowhere in sight.


	8. Fade to Black

**Chapter 7: Fade to Black**

_A/N: Thanks as always for the reviews, faves, and follows, guys, it means a lot to me. Also a big thank you to my trusty beta, Wolfpack pride. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or Supernatural, unfortunately. _

* * *

"Damn it, we only looked away for a second!" Sam cursed, running a hand through his hair with agitation. McGee shook his head, panic slowly rising in his chest. Tony was gone, most likely kidnapped by a witch strong enough to raise a demon that had the potential to destroy the entire world.

Oh, this was bad - very, _very_ bad.

"Oh, God, Gibbs is gonna kill me," McGee said, shaking his head as he dug in his bag for his phone. "I've got to call him, we need a plan."

"We can't wait around for my brother and Gibbs to get here!" Sam said. "This witch, if she knows who Tony is, knows that he's trying to help us take down Orochi, she won't hesitate to kill him. One of us has to go into the homeless shelter. That's the only place he can be. If he was whisked of somewhere, we don't have a chance of finding him, so we need to hope like hell that he's inside of the shelter."

"I'll do it." Both men jumped in their seats at the sound of Ziva's voice. McGee turned, looking at his partner with a furrowed brow.

"I thought you were asleep?"

"I woke up when you shouted Tony's name," she said. "He is missing, yes?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded in affirmation. "Sending you in alone is not a good idea."

"More than one person will draw attention, and we have no more disguises. I will no doubt stick out like a sore toe-"

"Thumb," McGee corrected automatically.

"-on my own, but hopefully I can avoid notice long enough to find where Tony has gone."

McGee paused, glancing sideways at Sam. "This is a bad idea, Ziva."

"Call Gibbs. While we wait for he and Dean to arrive, I will perform reconnaissance on the shelter. It is a waste of time to just sit here when Tony could be in danger," Ziva reasoned, and McGee had to agree that the other agent made a valid point. He sighed.

"Do you still have your earwig in?" he asked. She nodded. "Okay, good. Make up some story about you being a reporter with the local newspaper or something, they'd never believe that you're homeless."

"Alright," Ziva responded, and without hesitation she slid open the back door of the van and made her way out, crossing the street and disappearing into the homeless shelter. McGee motioned for Sam to hand him the headset that was connected to Ziva's earwig and slid it over his ears.

"Be careful, Ziva. Don't let your guard down for a second."

"Do I ever?" she whispered back. "Tony mentioned a female social worker, yes?"

"Yeah."

"Then I will start with her. Unless she has somehow teleported him - assuming it actually _was _the witch - he is most likely inside of here," she reasoned. "I will keep you updated."

McGee nodded at Ziva's words. "Okay." He then looked at Sam. "Do you have Gibbs' number?"

"No, not to mention my phone got fried when we were at Lance Corporal Belisarius' apartment. Something about the Orochi messes with electronics. All four of our phones are dead," Sam explained.

"I think Tony gave Gibbs a new one, he keeps a stockpile of phones for him."

"Why?" Sam asked, confused.

"Um... he's kind of technologically challenged," McGee explained. "Anyway, then number should be the same. Here." He tossed his cell phone to Sam. "He's speed dial one."

* * *

"You _lost _DiNozzo?" Gibbs repeated roughly as he paced around the small fishing cabin, having been roused from his slumber by the call from Sam on McGee's phone.

"He was there one second, and gone the next," Sam explained as he heard McGee's muffled voice in the background. "We sent Ziva in after him, hopefully she'll be able to find where he's been taken, if Irena really did find him."

"And what if she did?" he asked. "What'll happen to Tony? What'll happen to Ziva, if she gets to her, too?"

There was a pause on the other end. "Not anything good. It would probably be a good idea for you and Dean to get here, and fast. If she's nearby, and she summons a hoard of demons to help her and sends them after us, McGee and I aren't going to be enough to stop them. Right now, Ziva's fine. She's searching the shelter top to bottom for him."

"We'll be there in an hour. I want you checking in on Ziva every minute. I'm not losing both of them today," he growled before hitting the end button and shoving his phone in the pocket of his hoodie. He walked over to the cot where Dean was sleeping, mouth hanging slightly open, his slumber marked by almost-snores. He nudged the hunter slightly.

His reaction was instant, forest green eyes breaking open as he practically threw himself out of the bed, grabbing the pistol he had apparently stowed under the pillow and pointing it around wildly as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes. "Wuzz goin' on?" he managed, speech barely coherent.

He was reminded stunningly of Tony. The memory of him jumping up like a mad man when Ziva had poured cold water on his head during their undercover mission, gun in hand and clad only in his underwear. This also reminded him that Tony was currently MIA. _I've never lost an agent undercover, _Gibbs thought darkly. _I'll be damned if I'm going to let DiNozzo screw that record up._

"We gotta go," Gibbs explained, carefully putting his hands over Dean's and lowering the gun that was unceremoniously pointed directly at his face. Dean blinked several times, finally starting to fully come to. "Tony's gone."

"Gone," Dean repeated slowly, eyebrows knitting together. "Define gone."

"Missing. Earwig feed's dead, they don't have a visual. One second he was there, the next second he was out of sight and his com was down. They sent Ziva in after him, they think he's inside the homeless shelter somewhere. We need to get over there in case the witch calls up reinforcements," Gibbs told him as he grabbed his bag and tossed Dean his discarded shirt, since he had been sleeping without it.

"Damn it," Dean said, tugging the cotton tee shirt over his head. "Guess our luck's extending to you guys. Well, on the flip side, she'll at least torture him for awhile before she kills him, so at least we've got time to find him."

Gibbs wasn't particularly comforted by Dean's comments.

"I intend on gettin' him out before that happens," he said, opening the front door a little too hard. It came off of its hinges. He threw the broken door to the side, not giving a crap at the moment that it was going to be freezing inside the cabin when they came back. "Damn demon venom," he cursed as he made his way out to the Impala, Dean trailing close behind as the oldest Winchester tugged his jacket tight around himself. Dean carefully opened the door, frowning at the shattered window on Gibbs' side that McGee had apologized profusely for earlier (trying hard to talk over Dean's death threats) and offered to pay for. Dean slipped into the driver's seat.

"Time to save the day," he muttered dryly before trundling down the dirt road that led back to the city.

* * *

An hour later, the Impala roared onto Lyndon Street, where Damocles and the homeless shelter were located. Dean parked the car a short distance behind the MCRT surveillance van. The two of them quickly exited the vehicle and made their way to the van, knocking on the back doors. A second later, Sam let the two of them in. As soon as Gibbs stepped inside and saw the look on McGee's face, he knew that things had only gone from bad to worse since he had spoken to him an hour ago. Sam looked at Dean with a similar expression.

"I don't like that look, McGee," Gibbs said.

"What's happening?" Dean asked.

McGee's frown deepened. "Boss... about ten minutes ago, I was just about to call you..."

"Spit it out, McGee!"

"Ziva's feed went dead," Sam said, answering in McGee's stead. "One second, she's talking to a social worker, the next second, nothing. Just like Tony's."

"Damn it," Gibbs swore. "This means that DiNozzo and Ziva are trapped inside. Did you get the name of the social worker Ziva was talking to?"

"Linda," McGee responded. "She said her name was Linda. That must be the witch, and she must have her base of operations somewhere in the homeless shelter."

"They have to be inside somewhere," Sam said.

"What's the plan, boss?" McGee asked.

It was Dean who replied instead of Gibbs. "What the hell do you think the plan is? We go in, waste the bitch, and get them back!"

Sam had a look on his face that expressed agreement with his brother, and McGee was looking at Gibbs with wide eyes, apparently waiting for him to say something. Gibbs nodded. "Seems like a good plan to me."

"Alright then," Dean said, turning his back to head out of the van. "Come on, Sam."

"Hold it," Gibbs commanded, halting Dean in his steps. "McGee, take Sam, search the place, but stay hidden. Don't let anyone see you. Finding the witch is second priority now, getting Tony and Ziva back is more important."

"Sammy and I can handle this, Gibbs, we know what we're doing."

"And McGee knows what he's doing. You're searching for some place hidden, some place that no one's found in all the time this Linda woman's worked there. McGee's got keen eyes and he's worked with us on cases like this before. I trust him to do this."

"Gibbs..." Dean sighed as McGee ducked his head slightly, trying and failing to hide his slight blush.

"Keep in mind I'm _letting _you work this case," Gibbs said. "You and I stay here, watch the perimeter, make sure no one leaves the building." He looked at McGee and Sam. "If you two aren't back in twenty minutes, I'm calling in Balboa's team and we're raiding the place. Got it?"

Sam looked to Dean for confirmation that they were going along with the plan. Dean seemed torn for a moment, but then nodded and gestured towards the back door. "Fine, but you better come back in one piece."

"I always do," Sam said, which received him an eyeroll from Dean. He and McGee made their way past Gibbs and out of the van. Once the doors closed behind them, Dean sighed heavily before sinking down in the passenger seat. Gibbs leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and looking at the older Winchester.

"You know what makes me nervous, Gibbs?" Dean asked after a few beats of silence. "Sending my brother into a dangerous situation with someone who wouldn't know a demon from their next door neighbor. I get that your man is good, Gibbs, he wouldn't be working for you if he wasn't, but the fact still stands that he ain't a hunter," he said, seeming not at all pleased by the turn of events.

"Twenty minutes," Gibbs reminded him. "Twenty minutes, and we'll go in guns blazing, just the way you like," he said, remembering the hunter's preferred approach from the case they had worked together almost a decade ago.

"I left a hell of an impression on you, didn't I?" Dean asked, his lips threatening to twitch up into a smirk.

"You and your dad both," Gibbs replied, memories of the old case floating to the forefront of his mind. There had been a series of mysterious murders on a Marine amphibious assault vessel, the _USS Kearsarge, _that were leaving plenty of blood behind, but very little physical evidence pointing to who might have been behind it. All three of the victims had been beaten viciously before being forcibly drowned in one of the sinks.

He and Stan had gone to investigate the murders when the _Kearsarge _was docked in Norfolk, and Gibbs had nearly been beaten and almost drowned by a vengeful spirit of a dead Marine that had been wounded and left behind to drown after by his heartless CO. He was sure he was going to die when two men, disguised as Marines, entered the bathroom and stopped the spirit with what he later found out were rock-salt rounds.

_He heard the sound of a gun going off, and then he felt the pressure on the back of his head lift, and suddenly he was being pulled back by a strong hand. Spluttering and coughing up the water, he looked into the brown eyes of the older man - a Marine, supposedly __- who had saved him. Nearby, a much younger man, probably only twenty or twenty-one, held the gun that had apparently taken care of whatever the hell had just attacked him._

_The thing - man, whatever - that had attacked him was a Marine, but his skin had been a gray color, his eyes pale and staring, and he did not speak when he assaulted Gibbs. He had fought as best he could, but his punches had sailed directly through the man, and he had received a hell of a beating. He was bleeding badly from a gash above his eye and along his jaw line, and he was half-sure that he had broken a rib._

_"What was that!?" he burst out, still coughing up copious amounts of water over his shoes._

_"That was a vengeful spirit who's flavor of the week happens to be Marines, current and ex, judging by the cut," the younger one answered, holstering the weapon that was most certainly not issued to him by the Corps. _

_"No such thing," he said at the exact same time as the older man, who smirked slightly._

_"Who are you?" he asked, managing to compose himself enough to stand. They definitely weren't Marines. The man extended a hand._

_"Doesn't matter who we are, just that we're here to stop that thing." Gibbs took his hand and gave his as firm as shake as he could under present conditions._

_"Only one question for you - how?"_

From there, with Gibbs' help, they had the dead Marine's CO dishonorably discharged for dereliction of duty, giving the vengeful spirit the justice that it wanted, since his body had been abandoned and never found, and they were thus unable to salt and burn his bones, which John and Dean had explained was the traditional way of disposing of spirits.

He had gotten a crash course in hunting and the supernatural. He hadn't wanted a repeat experience, but he was glad that they'd run into Dean and his brother. Dean was a good man, he knew that much, and from what he had gleaned from Sam so far, he also seemed to be cut from the same cloth. Antichrist or not, he could see in Sam's eyes that the guy wouldn't hurt a fly if he didn't absolutely have to.

He could only hope that this hunt turned out as well as the last one. So far, his hopes weren't high.

_Damn it, DiNozzo, David... don't do this to me..._

* * *

Ziva blinked her eyes blearily as she came to, and she realized almost immediately that she wasn't in a particularly good situation. She smelled the strong scent of incense, the room she was in was unpleasantly hot, and she could tell that she was bound to a chair - not a comfortable one, either. Her hands and feet were immobilized. When she lifted her head to take in her surroundings, one of the first things she saw was Tony, who was tied into the chair directly next to hers.

"Welcome to the party, Zee-vah. You've been out for awhile," he greeted dryly.

"What... where are we?"

"No clue. The Wicked Witch of DC pricked me with the same knockout crap she injected you with. One second, I'm a homeless man simply minding my own business, next I'm waking up down here, tied to this chair, all my weapons gone," he explained, leaning back as much as he could with his hands and feet bound.

"Your wire?" she asked.

"Taken out. I'm sure yours is, too," he responded.

"This is bad," Ziva said, looking around the room. There were hundreds of books, all in thick and old bindings. There were candles laid out on most of the flat surfaces, and several inverted pentagrams were carved into the floor in various places. Shelves lined the walls, and upon them sat dozens of jars, filled with all manner of unpleasant things. "Very, _very _bad. Sam mentioned cannibalism, did he not?"

"Don't forget ritual human sacrifice and other fun things," Tony reminded her.

"We have to get out of here."

"Well yeah, Ziva, I kind of had that figured out on my own. I've been trying to think of a way out of here for the past hour. I've got nothing. I can't move my legs or my hands. The best I can hope for is to head butt her if she decides to get up close and personal, maybe knock her out. That still leaves us trapped, though," he said, hazel eyes sparking with irritation.

"This rope is thin. Given enough time, I may be able to saw through it with a fingernail," she said, testing the rope that bound her hands with the tip of her finger.

"How much time are we talking?" he asked.

Ziva paused for a moment, thinking. "Eight to twelve hours."

"Yeah, I'm sure she'll leave us alone and uneaten for that long."

"Do you have any better ideas?" she snapped.

"Other than crying to inspire pity or just screaming our heads off until somebody, preferably Gibbs and McGee, finds us? No," he replied. "Oh no," he said suddenly, eyes widening.

"What?" she asked, not liking the look of horror on Tony's face. "What is it?"

Tony whimpered. "My nose itches."


	9. Cross Out the Eyes

**Chapter 8: Cross Out the Eyes**

_A/N: Hello lovely readers! Thank you as always for the feedback, follows, favorites, etc. And a big thank you to my trusty beta, Wolfpack pride! I have to say, this is my least favorite chapter so far, but I hope you like it all the same._

_Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or Supernatural. Insert sad face here._

* * *

Sam and McGee entered the homeless shelter, both of them moving cautiously and keeping their eyes open for anything and everything. They had no idea what might have taken down Tony and Ziva. Sam could tell that McGee was bordering on paranoid, with the way that his pale green eyes were flicking all over the place, his hand constantly twitching for the butt of his gun.

Glancing down at his watch, he realized why - it had been just over twenty-four hours since McGee had been bitten, and he was Orochi's first target. Sam delved into the pocket of his jacket and removed a small flask of holy water, passing it over to McGee as they crossed the threshold. "Here, take this." McGee looked down at it questioningly.

"We're not supposed to drink on duty," McGee said, giving him an odd look as he made to pass the flask back. Sam shook his head.

"It's not booze, it's holy water. If you splash that on a demon, it'll burn them, sometimes enough to give them a run for their money," Sam explained. McGee nodded dimly, pocketing the flask and gulping. "Alright, let's split up. You look for some kind of secret entrance, a sub-basement - anywhere that Tony and Ziva could be."

McGee nodded. "And you'll be looking for Irena."

"Yeah. Remember, we have to clear out of here in twenty minutes, or Gibbs will call in the cavalry," he said, before heading off a side hallway and leaving McGee to his own devices. He didn't like the amount of faith that he and Dean were putting in Gibbs and his agent's abilities, but he could only hope that his brother's trust wasn't misplaced.

Keeping in mind his orders to stay hidden, he made sure to check around each corner before continuing through the mass of corridors that made up the homeless shelter. It was a bland affair, wooden doors guarded rooms piled with iron bed frames and flat mattresses. A few rooms held bathing areas, but by the looks of them, they were more likely to make you dirty than clean.

A few of the transients roaming the shelter eyed him, but he figured that it wouldn't make any difference, as long as he wasn't spotted by any of the social workers. Finally, he reached a room that appeared to be a makeshift cafeteria, with a station set up with several young women preparing sandwiches and handing them out to the men and woman gathered there. He quickly ducked behind a nearby vending machine. He peeked over the top, his eyes raking over the three women putting together the food. They were all young, not likely to be any older than sixteen, probably members of a youth group.

He did, however, spot a woman with long, blond hair, who appeared to be in her mid-thirties. She was dressed in a clean white blouse and dark brown slacks, so she definitely wasn't one of the vagrants. He noticed a name tag, but from this distance, he couldn't make out the name. _It doesn't really matter, _he thought to himself. _It's not like her nametag is going to read, 'Irena Lund - Witch' or something._

Currently, she was the best lead he had, so he hung in the shadows, waiting for the woman to make a move, keeping an eye on his watch the entire time. He definitely didn't want an NCIS team to show up here, fully armed and ready to bust down the doors. He and Dean were, after all, wanted criminals, a fact he was incredibly surprised that none of Gibbs' team had pointed out yet. He could only assume that they had so far escaped suspiscion because he and Dean were supposedly dead.

After a few minutes, the woman made her way out of the room, using the exit on the far side of the cafeteria. He skirted along the edges of the gatherings of homeless men and women, ducking his head and trying to look smaller, which was no small feat for him, and discretely followed behind the woman, stepping carefully so that the dull thud of his footsteps on the tile underneath would not be heard.

It appeared that this section of the shelter was made up of maintenance closets and the offices of the social workers who ran the shelter, all of which could probably have been mistaken for closets had they not had names labeled on the doors. He read them as he passed by. Casey Spencer. Alona Collins. Linda Ruen.

_Wait a minute. Linda Ruen? _Why did that name sound so familiar? _Linda was the name of the social worker Ziva was talking to, right before she disappeared. _There was something else about the name that caught his attention as well, but what was it? After a moment, he blinked in realization. _That's an anagram for Irena Lund! _He wasn't sure if that made the witch really clever, or really stupid.

He tried the door. Locked. Sam contemplated trying to pick the lock, but instead decided to continue his pursuit of the social worker. Sam stalked down the length of the corridor until he was met by an old wooden door held to the wall by rusty iron hinges. The steps leading down from the threshold were concrete, and he heard the faint click of heels echoing from the dark expanses of wherever the staircase led to.

Sam carefully made his way down, using a hand on the ice cold wall to guide him. Once he reached the sublevel, he listened closely to make sure that the social worker had moved out of earshot, wherever she was. In the distance, he heard the sound of a door being open and closed. Hopefully that meant he was getting closer to wherever Tony and Ziva were.

Sam removed his flashlight from his pocket, flicking it on and illuminating the moist and foul smelling basement. The basement was filled with broken furniture and old mattresses that were too dirty for use. Brass pipes crisscrossed on the ceiling, and one of them was leaking, a repetitive _pit-pat _noise echoing throughout the room. Cobwebs dotted each corner, and every surface was either covered with a thin layer of water or a thick layer of dust. Pleasant. He treaded carefully, and he let the beam of light from his flashlight sweep down a corridor that opened up at the right hand corner of the basement.

He followed it, ears trained for noise up ahead. This was definitely where the sound of the door opening and closing originated from. However, when he reached the end of the hallway, there was nothing there but an empty oak bookcase. _But what if... no way. That's too cliché. Not a chance._

Apparently cliché was the flavor of the day, because when Sam pushed the bookcase to the side, he saw that there was a lever behind it. He pulled on it, and a panel opened up in the nearby wall. It seemed as though he had found the entrance to Irena's lair. Sam opened up the hidden door, putting an ear to the crack between door and wall. His flash light beam illuminated another staircase that led to the second basement. Maybe it was an abandoned bomb shelter? He could hear voices echoing. Two females, one male. He quickly identified the male as Tony and one of the females as Ziva.

"...cut out your tongue, maybe? Yes, that'll work, that's an ingredient I always have trouble getting a hold of," the witch said, an Eastern European accent prevalent in her voice.

"We are federal agents. It will soon be discovered that we are missing, and very, _very _bad things will happen to you," Ziva replied.

"Yeah, once our boss gets a hold of you, you're going to wish that you'd never started hobo-hunting," Tony added.

"Your boss will not find me, nor will he find you. I don't keep meat down here for long. Once your usefulness has run out, I will dispose of you."

Sam quickly shut the door, knowing that he and McGee's twenty minute deadline was approaching its expiration. He knew where Tony and Ziva were being kept, and now they could regroup with Dean and Gibbs and launch an assault on the witch's den. Even if the witch was incredibly powerful, she wouldn't be able to stand up to all four of them... hopefully.

Sam slid the bookcase back over the lever and shut the hidden door before making his way out of his basement and then weaved his way through the maze of hallways that made up the homeless shelter, no longer bothering to make sure that he stayed out of sight, knowing that Irena was down in the abandoned bomb shelter. When he exited the cafeteria and turned into the corridor that led back to the main entrance of the shelter, he crashed headlong into McGee, sending them both into the ground.

"Damn it," McGee cursed, sitting up quickly. He opened his mouth to say more, but when Sam pushed himself off of the ground and looked at him, an odd smirk formed on his lips. "Hello, Sam."

"Uh, hi?" He arched an eyebrow at the NCIS agent as he stood up. He offered a hand to help McGee to his feet, but he ignored it, choosing to stand on his own. "I found where she's keeping Tony and Ziva. There's an old basement on the other side of the shelter, inside of the basement is a secret door. I heard their voices. They're down there."

"Oh?" McGee asked, tilting his head. "Fantastic. Let's go get the others so we can rescue them, then."

Something in McGee's voice bothered him, but he decided not to dwell on it, instead rushing towards the exit. "Alright, good, let's do this."

* * *

Gibbs heard Dean breathe a sigh of relief next to him. He looked out the passenger side window and he saw Sam and McGee come out of the front door of the shelter. Gibbs relaxed visibly. He had trusted McGee not to get himself killed in there, of course, but they were dealing with something unpredictable, something that the young man had never witnessed before. For McGee, a man of science, this had to be completely overwhelming.

He watched as Sam hurried up to the MCRT van, McGee trailing close behind. Sam threw open the backdoors of the van and entered. "We found them."

"Where?" Dean asked, already out of the passenger seat. Gibbs jumped up as well, turning to face Sam and McGee.

"Secret door inside a disused basement. I heard their voices from the top of the stairwell that leads down there. We need to hurry, it doesn't sound like she plans on keeping them alive for long." Gibbs stomach did an involuntary flip at Sam's words. What did the witch plan on doing with Tony and Ziva?

"What the hell are we waiting for, then? Let's gear up and get to rescuing," Dean said, brushing past his brother and McGee. McGee's eyes followed Dean's with mild interest. Something was definitely going on with McGee. He had always been able to tell a lot about a person from their eyes. McGee had also never been an expert in hiding how he was feeling. Throughout the five years that McGee had been on the team, Gibbs had read every emotion in the book from his eyes - anxiety, fear, sorrow, anger, happiness, embarrassment, jealousy - he'd seen everything a man could feel in McGee's bright green eyes at one point or the other. Never once had he seen the look they held now.

They were... empty. Cold. Maybe even a little bit smug. "You alright, Tim?" Gibbs asked as he tailed Dean and Sam out of the MCRT van and over to the trunk of the Impala.

McGee looked at him. He gave him a mirthless smile. "I'm fine. I'm just worried about the others."

"Uh-huh," he said slowly, letting his suspicion shine through. Before he could push further, Dean caught his attention.

"Gibbs," he handed him a flask. "Holy water. Just in case. She's human, so your SIG should work fine on her. You still got the sawed-off with the rock salt bullets with you?" Gibbs nodded. "Good." Dean grabbed an anti-possession necklace like the one he had given him earlier and tossed it to McGee, who caught it deftly. "This won't keep Orochi out, but if she's got anymore of the black-eyed bastards in there, this'll keep them from wearing you to the prom."

"Thanks," McGee said, sliding it over his neck.

"Okay. Sammy, you lead the way," Dean said grabbing the knife with the strange runes on it and storing it in his pocket. Sam nodded, hurrying back towards the door. Gibbs put his hand on the butt of his SIG Sauer, determination flaring in his chest. It was time to get his agents back.

* * *

"Now I'm really starting to get _Hocus Pocus _flashbacks," Tony whispered to Ziva as they watched Irena turn and stroll to the other side of her little witch den, grabbing some jar of mysterious ick from the wall and pouring it into a small cauldron she had. She lit a fire underneath it, and Tony thought he smelled the scent of burning hair. He shuddered at the odor.

"Tony, with how high the chances are of the two of us being brutally tortured and murdered are right now, is it really the time for movie references?" Ziva asked in a tight whisper. She had been attempting to saw through the thick ropes that were binding them, but from what Tony could see, she was so far having no luck. That combined with the witch's threats and her inability to move had Ziva on the edge of a severe Mossad rage fit.

"It's always the time for movie references. You know, she kind of looks like Sarah Jessica Parker, if you squint and tilt your head to the side." He then preceded to do so, and Ziva let out an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes.

"You've creaked."

"Cracked," he corrected automatically. "Now we just need a bigger cauldron and a McGee look-alike with a British accent..." he trailed off as Irena turned around, abandoning her mixture and walking back towards them. She clasped her hands behind her back, a pair of pliers held between them, looking over the two of them. She was dressed in a white blouse and neatly pressed dark slacks. She had long blonde hair that hung slightly past her shoulders, and ice blue eyes that didn't hold an ounce of warmth. Admittedly, she was kind of scary, and he wasn't a man who was easily scared.

Irena watched Ziva for a long moment before strolling around to the back of her chair and directing her eyes to Ziva's bound hands. She clucked her tongue and shook her head in disapproval. "Trying to escape I see. We can't have that, now can we?"

"Right. Sorry. We're supposed to just be good little rats in the cage, right?" Tony asked, not liking the idea of the crazy bitch being anywhere near his partner.

"Quiet," she said, throwing a vicious glare his way. She knelt down behind Ziva's hands, and he heard Ziva's breath quicken.

"_What is she doing_?" Ziva mouthed. He shook his head, trying to communicate that he didn't know.

"If you're going to try to escape, then I'll just have to take away your last weapon," she told her in a saccharinely sweet voice. She grabbed a hold of Ziva's index finger, pliers held in her other hand. "These will just have to go. This is lucky, really, I've been needing more fingernails. When they're removed while the owner is still alive, they are even more potent."

"No!" Ziva burst out, but it was too late. A second later, Irena was holding Ziva's bloody fingernail in the palm of her hand, and Ziva let out a strangled growl of agony, throwing her head back.

"Get away from her!" Tony yelled, straining against his bonds. "Don't touch her!"

"There is not much you can do to stop me, now is there?" Irena responded shortly, moving on to Ziva's middle finger.

"Stop! Stop!" He knew it was stupid, but a part of him hoped that if he was loud enough, she'd listen to him.

She ripped the next nail out. This time, Ziva wasn't able to hold back a scream. Tony's felt a twisting in his chest as he saw Ziva bite down on her lip so hard that she drew blood. A tear escaped from her eye.

"STOP!" he bellowed again. He couldn't watch this. He couldn't watch her be tortured like this...


	10. Malleus Maleficarum

**Chapter 9: Malleus Maleficarum **

_A/N: Thanks for all the feedback, guys! It always puts a smile on my face. I'd like to thank my beta Wolfpack pride for her diligent work as well. Oh, and please don't send hellhounds after me because of this chapter. I'm out of salt and goofer dust._

_Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or Supernatural!_

* * *

"STOP!"

The witch latched the pliers onto the fingernail of Ziva's ring finger. Before Irena could rip out the next nail, however, the sound of thundering footsteps coming down the staircase drew her attention away. Tony turned his head as much as he could, and was filled with blissful relief when he saw Dean, Sam, Gibbs and McGee racing towards them.

The witch's eyes widened in shock as Gibbs, without hesitation, tackled her to the ground. Sam went to Tony and McGee to Ziva, both intending to free them. "Boss! Thank God you're here."

"Wouldn't miss this, DiNozzo," he said, trying to wrestle handcuffs onto Irena. However, as soon as the cuffs touched her skin, they melted off, as if her skin was burning them.

"Pyrokinetic. Awesome," Dean said, withdrawing a strange knife from his pocket. Sam finished untying Tony, and he jumped up just in time to see Irena blast Gibbs backwards with a fireball. _Oh, fantastic, she's got super powers, _he thought as he darted towards his boss, hoping that he hadn't been injured badly by the flames.

Ziva was released a second later by McGee. Dean launched at Irena with the knife, but she dodged nimbly before appearing behind him. When he turned, she hooked her hands around his neck, trying to strangle him. Sam ripped out a pistol and pointed it at her, but she had Dean in front of her, and the younger Winchester didn't seem to want to risk hitting his brother. Ziva and McGee withdrew their SIGs and pointed them at Irena as well. Dean struggled against her iron grip. _Damn, she must be strong._

"Let him go!" Sam ordered. The witch paid him no heed.

Tony stooped down next to Gibbs. The front of his jacket was badly singed and he could smell burning hair, but other than that the older agent seemed okay. He coughed slightly, and Tony put a hand on his shoulder. "Alright, boss?" Tony heard a scream from behind him, and he turned to see Irena fall away from Dean, hitting the floor with a hard thud. He saw that Dean's knife was sticking out of her stomach. She writhed on the floor as a pool of blood formed steadily around her.

Dean backed up, massaging his throat. "Christ," he managed. "She's tougher than she looks." McGee lowered his weapon, but Ziva and Sam stepped forward, guns still trained on Irena, who was now quickly bleeding to death on the floor. Tony helped Gibbs to his feet.

Irena coughed, blood spattering her lips. Then, to Tony's surprise, she laughed. It was high. Pure. Terrifying. "You can't win this."

"Well, we'd be a lot more likely to win if you used your dying breath to tell us how to take out Orochi. Do one last good deed to make up for what an evil bitch you are," Dean said, leaning down to yank his knife out of her stomach. She let out a whimper, but she was still smiling.

"Fools," she said. "You think you've defeated me."

"Well sweetheart," Tony said, walking towards the others with Gibbs at his side. "You're the one who's bleeding out on the floor, so I'd say... yeah."

She grinned up at him, a maniacal glint in her eye, her teeth dark red with blood. "Oh, Orochi..." she called in a sing-song voice. "You can come out now."

"It's about time," Tony heard McGee say from behind him. He, Gibbs, Sam, Dean and Ziva turned as one to look at him. When he saw the smirk on McGee's face and the dead look in his eyes, he felt his blood freeze. McGee cracked his neck loudly, then blinked. When he opened his eyes, they were as black as night. "Let the fun begin."

_No. Please, God, no._

In a flash, Gibbs was flung into the wall, his head cracking against it as he let out a strangled explanation. Dean jumped at him, knife in hand, but McGee dodged nimbly, moving faster than any human being should've been able to. A second later, Dean had a gash across his face and was on the other side of the room, curled up in a ball. "CASTIEL!" Dean screamed. McGee snorted.

"Don't waste your breath, Winchester. Irena covered the shelter in Enochian sigils. Your little tree-topper isn't getting anywhere near this place." Tony couldn't keep up with what was going on, everything was happening too fast.

He heard Sam and Ziva scream and he thought he saw them being thrown into walls as well before he felt a well-aimed and sharp kick to his stomach, and he collapsed to his knees with a groan. Next, he felt another kick land on his jaw and a crack, then the sound of McGee laughing. Why was he laughing?

"What's wrong, DiNozzo?" McGee asked, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and raising him several inches off of the floor, a feral grin on his face. "Wouldn't want to ruin that pretty smile, now would we?"

"McGee..." he whispered. It was all he could manage.

"Timothy McGee is not available to take your call right now. Please leave a message at the beep," McGee said, dragging Tony forward so their faces were only an inch apart. "It's so nice to meet you, DiNozzo. The one NCIS agent I haven't managed to get my claws on. Normally I'd mark you too, but... I think I'd enjoy killing you _much _more."

Tony couldn't respond, because nothing made sense. He was looking at McGee. He was feeling McGee's hands, he was hearing McGee's voice, he was smelling McGee's way-too-expensive cologne, but it _wasn't _him.

"Moron," McGee scoffed. He forced him painfully into the concrete wall. He tried to struggle against him, but he was too damn strong. Tony attempted to go for his SIG, but McGee grabbed it, able to pin him to the wall easily with one hand. He looked at it with mild interest. "You really aren't too sharp, are you? I'm a demon; your stupid little human toys aren't going to work on me."

He whipped Tony in the face hard, and he saw stars in his eyes as McGee released him and he slid to the floor with a groan. He looked up in time to see McGee disassemble his weapon. He tossed away the remains with a smug chuckle.

Tony attempted to get to his feet. He'd fight him hand to hand if he had to; he wasn't about to die in the basement of a homeless shelter at the hands of one of his closest friends. He'd knock McGee out, or something. They'd figure out a way to get Orochi out of him. They had to.

McGee punched him hard in the face. Once. Twice. Three times. He felt hot blood trickling from his nose and splitting pain. McGee finished by grabbing his hair roughly and forcing his head back. With a sickening smile, he bashed his head against the wall again, ending with another forceful kick to the stomach. The pain was mind blowing, and he could barely breathe.

He watched as Dean stumbled forward, a dark bruise forming on his forehead, knife still clutched in his hand. McGee knew he was coming, however, and turned in time to intercept the knife, land an uppercut on Dean, and disarm him. He then picked him up and threw him into the chair that Ziva had been tied to, crushing it to pieces. Tony looked up, and saw that Gibbs was unconscious. Sam and Ziva were struggling to their feet.

McGee picked Dean back up and threw him into Sam, who was coming back towards him. He then lunged forward, grabbing Ziva by the arm and dragging her forward. He stood behind her, one hand around her neck in a headlock, with his hand covering her mouth and the other resting at her hip. He noticed that McGee's fingernails had extended in length, so that they more closely resembled claws. Behind him, Dean and Sam were both lifted up and pinned to the wall.

Ziva struggled valiantly against McGee, landing a hard elbow into his solar plexus and then stomping hard on his foot, but he was completely unfazed. He just laughed before leaning his mouth down to Ziva's ear. "Keep at it, and I'll slit your throat."

She seemed to buy his threat, as she stopped struggling and remained still in his grasp. McGee bit at the edge of Ziva's ear, and she shuddered. Tony felt sick to his stomach. "Stop!" He finally managed to find his voice. "Come on, McGee, I know you're in there, you've got to stop this!"

McGee let out a loud laugh. "McGee's checked out, DiNozzo. He's not strong enough to fight me. No one is. And now I get to play with you... maybe I'll leave you alive. Now that I think about it, it would be just as fun to force you to watch me torture your friends and then rip their bodies to shreds so I can take their souls. Then I'd kill you, and you would die knowing that you couldn't save your friends, and you couldn't save the world. You can't save anyone."

"Tony!" Dean yelled in a ragged voice from across the room. "The knife!"

Tony looked down, and he saw that Dean's knife was discarded about two feet away from him. Tony looked between the knife and McGee.

"It kills demons!" Sam provided from next to his brother.

"Go ahead, DiNozzo," McGee said, digging his claws into Ziva's cheek. She made a sound of pained protest as several droplets of blood trailed down her face, falling from her chin to the shoulder of her blouse. "Stab me, as if you actually could."

"You've got to stop him!" Dean shouted.

"He won't do a thing!" McGee yelled back, turning to look at Dean for a brief second before his pitch black eyes turned back to Tony. He grinned. "I can do anything I want to her, and you won't stop me..." He dragged his claws across Ziva's hip, and she shouted into the hand that covered her mouth. He left four jagged, dark red lines leading from her hip to just below her midriff.

"IT'S NOT MCGEE! YOU'VE GOT TO DO IT!" Dean exclaimed, jerking his head towards the knife.

"McGee..." Tony whispered, looking up at his friend. "...don't do this. I know you're in there. I need you to fight."

"This isn't a damn movie, you've got to stop him! DO IT!" Dean tacked this onto the end of Tony's quiet plea.

Tony still couldn't move. He knew that he needed to heed Dean's word; he knew that he was right. He knew that it was his only option. Deep down, he knew that. But he felt frozen in place, frozen to the ground. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't think.

McGee snickered. "Love - that's what makes you humans so weak. This kid's mind is completely open to me, and I can see that you love him, I can see that you love her... and that love is why you're going to watch both of them die." He pulled Ziva tighter to him, leaning down so that his teeth were an inch from her throat. "You don't have the power to hurt me," he said, his voice deceptively soft.

_He's hurting Ziva. McGee would never hurt Ziva. This isn't McGee. It's not McGee. You've got to stop him from hurting anyone else. _His mind finally caught up to what was happening. The shock faded, and he looked into the eyes of the thing in front of him, and it finally registered. _He is the enemy._

Tony picked up the knife, wrapping his hand around the hilt. It was warm from where Dean had held it. He gulped, feeling as though the contents of his stomach were going to spill. _"...we either a) let Gibbs, McGee, Sam and Dean get turned into soul food by the Orochi, or b) we kill one of them while the Orochi is in there bodies..."_

Why did it have to come to this?

Orochi gave him a fake pout face. "You wouldn't hurt me, would you Tony? I'm your Probie, remember?" He blinked his eyes, and they turned back to the familiar green that he was used to. The familiar green he'd looked into everyday for over five years.

But even if he was wearing McGee, even if he everything about him was McGee, it _wasn't _McGee, and those eyes were cold. Those eyes were dead.

"I'm sorry, Tim," he whispered, so quietly that he wasn't even sure if anyone heard him. Bracing his battered body for the incoming pain, he launched up and darted towards McGee with the knife held aloft in his hand. The demon seemed so surprised that Tony had actually moved that he didn't have time to evade him. The senior field agent crashed into McGee, and he managed to separate him from Ziva, knocking her to the ground and giving him just enough time to work the knife between his ribs and into his heart. McGee let out a strangled cough as the blade sank in, blood spattering Tony's face. Some kind of electricity sparked from the knife, and he could smell burning flesh.

McGee screamed.

He could feel his friend's heart beating through the hilt of the knife. It went from fast... to slow... to slower...

"MCGEE!" Ziva screamed from beside him.

He looked into McGee's eyes, and he felt hot tears burning in his own. His vision swam as he watched the life leave his friend's eyes, as he grew still underneath him, as his skin turned cold and pale. When McGee's heart beat its last beat, he removed the knife, and he caught McGee's body before it could fall to the ground. However, Tony felt that his knees couldn't support him, and he fell to the ground, letting the knife fall to the side and cradling the other agent in his arms. He heard the Winchesters breathe sighs of relief as they were released from their telekinetic bonds.

"No," he heard Ziva say from beside him, her voice cracking halfway through the word. She was on all fours next to him, and she laid her hand on McGee's heart, blood soaking her hand. "No, no, no," she repeated, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry," Tony whispered. "I'm so sorry." He didn't know whom specifically he was apologizing too. McGee. Ziva. Gibbs. The universe. God. McGee's gaze was fixed into the distance, and it hit him that the young man would never look at anything ever again. He'd never speak again. Never move again. Tony realized he would never have to come up with another McNickname for him, and for some reason, that's what sent the tears spilling from his eyes and down his cheeks.

Ziva let out a sob, and she laid her head on McGee's chest, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his stomach. He'd never seen her this affected by anything. He'd never seen her break before.

"You did the right thing," he heard Dean say. He turned his head slightly, still holding McGee, and looked to see Dean and Sam standing above him, looking solemn. He wondered if they'd seen something like this before. By the looks on their faces, he would guess that they had. Hell, they'd probably seen something much worse than this.

However, for Tony, this was the hardest thing he had ever had to do, and in a life that had been fraught with tragedy after tragedy, this ranked up there with the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

"Really?" Tony asked weakly. "Because it doesn't feel like it." It was a struggle to keep his voice steady. "It feels like I just killed my best friend."

"McGee was dead the second that Orochi possessed him," Sam explained gently. "You freed him. You saved his soul from being stolen by that thing."

"You pretty much saved the world too, if that's any consolation."

Honestly, at that moment, it wasn't. It wasn't a consolation at all. Nothing was. Because all he could register was that McGee was dead by his hand, and everything was so incredibly wrong.

He realized with a jolt that he would have to tell Abby that McGee was dead. And McGee's family. He'd never even met his mother and father, just his sister. How was he supposed to tell them? "_Hi, I'm Anthony DiNozzo - I was friends with your son. He's dead. Oh, and I killed him, too. Sorry. Apocalypse needed stopping. Collateral damage, you know_?"

He was interrupted from his thoughts by McGee's body twitching in his arms. He froze instantly, and Ziva withdrew, staring at their friend's corpse. They couldn't have imagined that.

McGee's mouth opened, and a tornado of thick, acrid black smoke escaped. It poured out in a long stream, filling up the entire ceiling like an enormous storm cloud. The four of them looked up in horror.

"Oh, shit," Dean cursed.

Once the black smoke had gathered, it redirected itself towards Gibbs, who was still slumped over on the other side of the room, knocked out cold. He released McGee's body and he and Ziva immediately jumped up at the same time.

"NO!" they shouted in unison.

The smoke reached Gibbs, and they all knew that it was too late.

* * *

_A/N: Remember that tidbit a few chapters ago when I said that Orochi could bypass normal demon protection and anti-possession charms?_


	11. Narrative of Soul Against Soul

**Chapter 10: Narrative of Soul Against Soul**

_A/N: Sorry for the long wait, folks! I've been quite busy of late. By the way, if anyone's interested, I got brave and started posting a solo SPN fic called "Falling Skies". Check it out if you want. :) As always, thank you for all of the feedback and thank you to my beta, Wolfpack pride, for her excellent work._

_Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or Supernatural!_

* * *

The smoke cleared after a few moments, and Dean watched as Gibbs rose to his feet, head tilted slightly as he looked over the four of them, his eyes finally landing on McGee's body. He quirked an eyebrow up. "Huh. What a shame. Looks like he wasn't strong enough." Dean felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. Orochi was inside of Gibbs, there was absolutely no doubt.

"This is bad," Dean said. Next to him, Tony and Ziva both looked horrified.

"No," Tony burst out, stumbling to his feet. "No, I killed you. I just killed you!"

"Correction," Orochi replied. "You killed McGee. I'm not your average demon, kid. That knife's a neat trick, sure, but it's not enough to get rid of me. All I have to do is smoke out and I'm right as rain." He took a few steps forward. "However, you did slow down my plans, and for that, I'm going to have to make you pay."

The demon raised his hand, but before he could blast the four of them back with a wall of kinetic energy, there was the sound of rustling feathers and Cas appeared behind Orochi. Before he even had a chance to turn, Cas had a burlap sack inscribed with a devil's trap cinched around his neck. In a flash, Orochi was on the ground with Castiel's knee in his back. Cas was fitting handcuffs around his wrists, but they weren't normal handcuffs. They were thick. Iron, with demon trapping sigils engraved on them. Dean had never seen anything like them before.

"Cas?" Sam exclaimed.

"Where have you been? We sure as hell could've used you back there when we were fighting for our lives!" Dean said, his tone angry and accusatory. Orochi struggled underneath Castiel, but was unsuccessful, even though it appeared that the angel was having one hell of a time holding him down.

"I apologize. I have been beset by demons since the moment I left NCIS headquarters yesterday and have been occupied trying to fend them off. Not to mention that this building was covered in Enochian sigils. I was only able to get in because the witch foolishly put them on the outside of the shelter, where I was able to break through them," Cas explained. He grabbed the bag that surrounded Orochi's head and used it to bang his skull against the floor several times. He grew still, and Castiel sighed slightly, rising to his feet.

"Are you alright?" Dean asked, brow furrowed in concern. He walked forward to where Castiel stood.

"I am unharmed," Cas replied.

He glanced back at Tony and Ziva, who were taciturn and silent now that the danger had passed. Tony was staring down at his hands, which were covered in McGee's blood. He looked like he was going to be sick. He and Sam exchanged a look, and his little brother nodded.

"Can we take this outside?" he asked. Cas nodded, gripping Dean's arm and transporting the two of them. In a blink, they were in front of the Impala. "Cas... we don't have a clue how to get rid of this thing. We're in dire straits. If we don't figure out how to exorcise this son of a bitch from Gibbs, I don't know what we're going to do. Obviously killing the host doesn't get rid of the damn thing," he shared his worries. He really didn't want to see the old man's body and soul get turned into mince meat by that black-eyed bastard.

"That much, I have discovered. I have a place that we can take him. Unfortunately, I am too weak to transport all of us there, so you will have to drive. I can, however, escort Orochi there. It's an abandoned Catholic church about fifteen miles north of the city of Norfolk. I can give you further directions if you need them. I will explain more once you arrive there."

Finally, something good. But he wasn't liking how vague Cas was being about this. "Are we talking a ritual, some special kind of exorcism? A weapon? What?"

"A mixture of the three," Castiel replied cryptically. "As I said, once you arrive, I will explain further. Now, I need to retrieve Orochi and go. I will meet you there." Before Cas could disappear, Dean launched out a hand and grabbed the sleeve of his trench coat.

"Wait," he said. "What about McGee?"

Castiel shook his head solemnly. "I can't bring him back, Dean. I am not strong enough. You know that being cut off from Heaven has weakened my Grace, and even if I was at my strongest, I cannot just indiscriminately reanimate the dead. You were a special case."

"I know man, I know," Dean responded, frowning. "But DiNozzo just keeps staring down at his hands, he looks like he's going to break. I don't know how tight they were, but if his reaction's any indication, I'd say they were like... like brothers." Honestly, Tony and McGee kind of reminded him of himself and Sam. He imagined himself in Tony's place, being faced with the choice that Tony had been faced with, and he was positive that he would never have been able to do that to Sam.

"I'm sorry, Dean. There's nothing I can do. If it makes any difference, his soul is in Heaven now. He was a good man," Cas informed him. That didn't surprise him. McGee had seemed like a good guy. A little nerdy, but good nonetheless.

"There's nothing we can do for them?" Dean asked. "Nothing?

"The best we can do for them now is attempt to save Gibbs from the same fate," Cas said. Dean released his arm and nodded dimly.

"You're right," he said. "Okay. Go do your thing. I'll see you at the church."

"I will tell the others to come outside," Cas replied.

"Hey... one last thing," Dean said. Something had been bothering him since Cas had appeared down in autopsy to tell them about Orochi.

"Yes? What is it?" Cas asked, tilting his head in that bird-like way of his.

"Back at NCIS... you said that this was 'fate' ordained by 'Your Father'," he said. "Cas, is the big man upstairs talking to you again?" God had been entirely silent since He had teleported them to the plane after Sam had unintentionally raised Lucifer, and Dean was beginning to wonder if He even cared if the apocalypse happened or not.

Castiel looked at Dean for a moment before his lips slowly lifted into a soft smile. He was surprised - Cas was a pretty stoic guy. He'd only seen him smile once, maybe twice before now. Dean blinked, and Cas was gone.

"Guess that's my answer," Dean sighed, sagging against the hood of the Impala, exhaustion washing over him. His entire body felt like one big bruise. The fight with Orochi and Irena had been difficult, but the NCIS agents had put up a valiant fight. He blearily thought in the back of his mind that they wouldn't be bad hunters.

He waited there for a few minutes in the early afternoon sunlight for the others to come out. The front door of the shelter opened, revealing Sam, Ziva, and Tony. Sam was supporting Tony, who was looking like absolute hell. He had deep bruises already forming on his jaw, and he remembered hearing a resounding crack when McGee had kicked him. It was probably fractured. There was also heavy bruising on his right cheek. His left eye was blackened, and on top of all of that, his nose was definitely broken and streaming blood.

Thank God they had a field surgeon kit in the back of the Impala. They'd have to work on the two of them when they arrived at the church Cas had mentioned. "You alright, DiNozzo?" Dean asked as they reached the car. Tony just looked blankly at Dean, seeming to barely register his presence.

"No. No, he is not," Ziva said, speaking for him.

"Cas told us what's going on," Sam said. His eyes wandered to Tony for a moment. "He took McGee's body and brought him to autopsy. Tony... he didn't want to leave him there."

Tony remained silent. Sam helped him into the back seat of the Impala. They were just going to have to leave the MCRT van here, for now. They would come back and retrieve it if they all managed to live through the next couple of days. Ziva stepped around the car and seated herself next to Tony. Ziva needed medical attention as well. She was cradling one of her hands, and he was horrified to see that she was missing two fingernails, not to mention the claw marks on her hip and face from Orochi.

He wasn't feeling too hot himself, but he was pretty sure he wasn't bleeding from anywhere, and that in and of itself was a miracle. He opened the driver's door and seated himself, with Sam sliding into the passenger's seat. "Where to?" his brother asked in a low voice.

"A church on the Maryland coast, fifteen miles north of Norfolk," Dean told him, starting the engine. "He tell you anything?"

"Sort of. He pretty much just took Ruby's knife out of McGee, tossed it to me, grabbed him and Gibbs, told the three of us to meet you here, and then disappeared. You know. Typical Cas. Do you have any idea what he's planning for us to do?"

"No clue," he said. "I'll guess we just have to trust him." If it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have liked the idea, but Cas had dragged him out of Hell, had rebelled against the other angels and Heaven for him. If he could trust anyone outside of Sam and Bobby, it was Castiel.

"Castiel is an angel," Ziva said quietly from the back seat. He looked at her in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glazed with tears that she wouldn't let fall. She had her hand overtop of Tony's. The agent in question was staring down at his lap, his chin touching his chest. "Can he bring back the dead?"

Dean looked sideways at Sam, and he could see the compassion in his brother's eyes. This stuff always hit Sammy hard. Not that it didn't hit him hard, but he was better at covering it than his younger sibling.

"No," Dean said firmly, but not without sympathy in his voice. "No, he can't."

After that, Ziva fell silent. Dean jumped slightly when he heard the Magnum P. I. theme blasting in the back seat, and he saw Tony remove his phone from his pocket and stare down at it uncomprehendingly. He showed the screen to Ziva, and she promptly took the phone from him.

"Ducky?"

* * *

Ducky plucked the last remains of Lance Corporal Belisarius' salvageable liver, dropping it onto a nearby tray. "My dear fellow, I do apologize. This is a death that I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy. Trust me when I say, however, that Gibbs' team and the Winchesters will do everything in their power to dispose of Orochi and avenge your untimely demise."

"Doctor," he heard a gravelly voice from behind him. He quickly identified it as the angel from earlier, Castiel. He turned to face him, and was shocked by what he saw. Castiel was standing there, stiff as a board, with McGee's limp body in his arms. The agent's pallor and stillness told him a story that he didn't want to believe.

_Dear God. Not again._

"Timothy..." he said, stepping forward to examine the agent. There was a blossom of blood on the front of his shirt, right where his heart was. "My God, who did this to him?" Ducky asked, looking up at Castiel.

"Agent DiNozzo," Castiel responded in a monotone. Ducky reeled backwards in shock.

"You're telling me that _Anthony _did this to him?"

"Orochi had possessed Timmy. Agent DiNozzo stabbed him with a demon-killing knife, because he was under the impression that killing him would also kill the Orochi. Unfortunately, he was mistaken." He proffered McGee's body to Ducky. "I thought this would be the proper place to take him. I am sorry for your loss."

Ducky shook his head. "This can't be."

Castiel's blue eyes stared at him intensely, and he thought he detected a tinge of sympathy. "Should I set him on the vacant table?"

Ducky nodded dimly. "Yes... yes. Please." He stripped off his latex gloves he had used during the Lance Corporal's autopsy and replaced them with a new pair. He had hoped beyond hope that he wouldn't have to do this again. He had already had to autopsy Kate and Jenny, why did he once again find himself doing his work on a friend?

Castiel carefully laid McGee's body down on the steel table. It never ceased to amaze him how the dead could look so peaceful. Even now, the young man looked like he was just sleeping. Ducky laid a hand on his shoulder, and he could feel the coolness of him through his jacket. No, he was not sleeping.

Timothy McGee was dead.

"Thank you for bringing him here, Castiel," Ducky said softly, looking back at the angel. "But I must ask - is there not something you can do for him? You are an angel, surely..."

Castiel ducked his head slightly. "I am currently... cut off from Heaven. As a result, my Grace has been weakened. I cannot raise the dead."

Ducky nodded solemnly. "I understand. What of the others? Are they-" before he could finish, he heard the flutter of wings, and he turned and saw that Castiel was nowhere in sight.

He sighed heavily. He didn't like not knowing whether Jethro, Anthony and Ziva were alright. Before starting McGee's autopsy, he needed to know whether to expect another body to be delivered. He dialed Jethro's number. No answer. Not a good sign. He then tried Anthony's instead. After it rang three times, the phone was picked up, but it was not Anthony on the other end.

"Ducky?" It was Ziva.

"I want you to explain to me what happened to him."

And so she did. She gave him an account of all that had happened since they had left NCIS the day before, including McGee's possession, subsequent death, and then Jethro's possession by the Orochi. She explained that Castiel may have a way to save him yet, and that was really the only solace he could take from the phone call.

"Ducky, we are about to head out of service range. I am going to have to let you go."

"Before you go..." He ran a hand through his thinning hair. "What am I to tell Abigail?"

"Tell her nothing," Ziva said sharply. "I do not want Abby to know what has happened until we are sure of whether or not Gibbs will..." she let out a shaky breath. "We will inform her of all that's happened once we are more certain of Gibbs' condition. Please do not let her in autopsy, Ducky. She does not need to see McGee like this."

"I understand. Ziva, please, be care-" The phone began to crackle loudly on the other end. "Be careful!" he said loudly, hoping that she could still hear him.

The other end of the line went dead. Ducky set his phone down on his desk before looking back at the dead agent on his table. "I am so sorry, Timothy..."

* * *

Four and a half hours later, just as the sun was beginning to inch its way towards the horizon, they pulled off into the patch of dirt that Tony supposed was the parking lot of the abandoned and dilapidated chapel. The ride up the Maryland coast had been the longest of his entire life, the minutes dragging by like years. All he could see were McGee's eyes as he'd killed him. All he could feel was the blood on his hands. All he could hear were McGee's screams. God, what had he done? It still hadn't sunk in. He wasn't sure if it ever would.

Dean shut off the Impala, looking back at him with a surprising amount of concern for someone who had only known him for a little over twenty-four hours. The four of them exited the car. Dean glanced around, eyes grazing over the exterior of the chapel. It was entitled the First Catholic Church of Callensie, a town that he could only assume no longer existed.

"Cas?" Dean called. A second later, the angel appeared in front of him, trench coat billowing in the breeze rolling in from the shore. "Where's Orochi?"

"Inside the sanctuary," Castiel said. "I have him bound inside of a devil's trap."

"What's the next step then?" Sam inquired. Castiel eyes turned to Tony, and the angel nodded to him.

"It depends on how far he is willing to go to save him."


	12. In Medias Res

**Chapter 11: In Medias Res**

_A/N: Thanks for all of the feedback guys, it really makes my day. :)_

_Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or Supernatural and make no profit from this story._

* * *

"How far I'm willing to go?" Tony echoed, speaking for one of the first times since they'd left the homeless shelter. "What do you mean?"

"I have found a way to dispose of Orochi and exorcise him from Gibbs," Castiel shared. "The ritual involved is complex, however. It will take time, and I can make no guarantees. Also... it requires the purified blood of a righteous man."

"Then what does DiNozzo have to do with it?" Dean asked. "I mean, I'm the Heavenly Vessel, right?" He gestured to himself. "Righteous as they come."

"Yes, and under normal circumstance, you would be the one to perform the ritual to excise and destroy Orochi, but his venom has tainted your blood," Castiel replied. "Sam's as well. And Agent David is female, rendering her blood unusable."

Tony was fairly sure he heard Ziva mutter something about sexism under her breath.

"So, who does that leave?" Tony asked, not sure if he was understanding where this was going. Castiel couldn't be suggesting what he thought he was...

"That leaves you," Castiel responded evenly.

"Me? Righteous?" Tony echoed. "Listen, Castiel, the sentiment is nice, but I'm not exactly a saint. I mean, the number of girls alone probably disqualifies me-"

"On the contrary," Castiel interrupted him. "Dean, for instance, is quite promiscuous-"

"Hey!" Dean cried out, indignant. Castiel continued as if he hadn't heard him.

"-but he is still considered to be good. Being an angel, my judgment is absolute. I can see you for what you truly are." Castiel's stark blue eyes stared at him, and Tony had to suppress a shiver. When the angel looked at him, it almost felt like he was looking _into _him. "You are a righteous man, Anthony DiNozzo."

He bit the inside of his lip. That was the last thing he expected to hear. He sure as hell didn't feel righteous. _After all, what kind of righteous man kills his best friend? _he thought darkly. At least this meant that he could help Gibbs, he supposed. "What do I have to do then, if I'm really as high and holy as you think I am?"

Castiel reached into his pocket and withdrew a clear box, tossing it to Tony. He opened it up, and inside were eight syringes. He shuddered slightly. He wasn't a big fan of needles, not after his experience with the plague. "You'll have to inject Orochi every hour for the next eight hours. What makes the Orochi so unique as a demon is that his host is tainted by his presence. Gibbs still has the venom inside of him from their previous encounter, along with Orochi's own blood coursing through him now. There has to be something to counter his influence, and that will be your blood, which is still entirely human. This is all so that once Orochi is exorcised, there will still be something left of Gibbs, though I can't make that a full guarantee."

"Wait," Ziva said. "Tony could do this ritual, and Gibbs could still die?"

Castiel nodded. "That is correct, though if it's any comfort, his soul and body would be fine. As I said, this is a unique incident. Previously, the Orochi was killed when it was in its greater form. We can't allow that to happen, obviously, as that would kill Sam and Dean. Gibbs as well," he added as an afterthought. "Once he's been prepared with the injections, you will have to perform an exorcism." He removed a slip of paper from his pocket and passed it to Tony.

"Uh, Castiel," Tony said, reading over the foreign words. "I hate to break it to you, but I don't speak Latin."

"That doesn't matter. I will teach you the correct pronunciation," Castiel said. "The exorcism must be performed while you carve this Enochian sigil into his chest with a blade soaked with your own blood." Castiel once again reached into the pocket of his trench coat and handed him another slip of paper, a strange symbol written on it. Squiggly lines around a triangle, basically. _Enochian? I've never even heard of that. I wonder if Ziva speaks it._

"Is there anything you don't have in there, Cas?" Dean asked.

"The ritual is complicated. This is why I have been mostly absent for the past two days," Castiel responded flatly before returning his attention to Tony. "You'll need to use Sam and Dean's demon-killing knife to draw the sigil on him. Then, Orochi will be dispelled into an adjacent Key of Solomon that I have already drawn. He will take his lesser form, the one that attacked all of you. This is where I will come into play."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"Once I have recovered from the amount of Grace I have exerted since we discovered Orochi, I will be traveling to Japan. I need to secure the Kusunagi, the sword that was pulled from Orochi's corpse thousands of years ago. It's currently in the possession of the sun god, Ameterasu."

"Yeah, the lore on Orochi mentioned Ame-whatever. She's got the Kusunagi?" Dean said, crossing his arms, acting as if Castiel hadn't said anything out of the ordinary.

"Yes, she-"

"Whoa, wait, back-up," Tony said, holding up a hand. "Gods? I mean, I didn't think the lore was a hundred percent or anything. There are _gods _out there? Not just one, no big guy upstairs?" He looked to Castiel. "I thought you were an angel of the Lord!"

"The other gods on earth are no longer as relevant, as their flocks have essentially vanished. They're powerful, yes, but the God that I serve, the Judeo-Christian God, reigns superior," Castiel explained. "Even if he has been somewhat... quiet, of late."

"Great, okay," Tony said, running a hand through his hair. "Is there anything that _isn't _real?"

"Well," Dean said, after thinking for a moment. "Big Foot's fake, if that's any consolation."

"Aliens too, as far as we can tell," Sam added helpfully. Tony sighed.

"I miss normal," he said truthfully. Human monsters were so much easier to fight. "So you get the sword, and then what?"

"Then I will return here with the blade. Once Orochi is exorcised from Gibbs, I will slay his lesser form with the Kusunagi. Then, with luck, this will all be over," Castiel said.

"Will this have any lasting effect on Tony?" Ziva asked worriedly. Tony turned to look at her. He'd been able to tell after they'd departed DC that she was holding it together purely for his sake. He was broken, and she felt like she didn't have the right to fall to pieces alongside him. He'd seen the tears brimming in her eyes. He'd heard her scream McGee's name. On the inside, Ziva was going through almost as much crap as he was. The only difference was that he'd been the one that knifed their fellow team member, not her.

"The danger posed to him will be more immediate," Castiel said. "Obviously the amount of blood he will lose will weaken him. There's also the chance that Orochi will somehow gain the upper hand in the situation, if he could somehow break through the devil's trap. Unlikely as that is, it wouldn't be wise to rule out the possibility. Also, Tony will have to remain inside the church while this goes on. The giver of the blood must remain on hallowed ground."

"You're saying the rest of us just sit around with our thumbs up our asses while DiNozzo goes in and turns himself into a pin cushion?" Dean asked, staring at the angel with a certain amount of incredulity.

"I see no reason why you would need to insert your-"

"It's an expression!" Dean and Sam chorused before Castiel could finish. Dean let out a huff, turning to Tony. "You better be damn sure about this, DiNozzo. I really don't want two deaths on my hands."

"McGee's death is on me," Tony snapped back, lifting his hands to show the dried blood on them. "Proof's right here. If I have to spill a little blood of my own to save Gibbs, then so be it."

Dean considered him for a moment after his outburst. Silence fell on the five of them for a few seconds. Then, Dean nodded. "Alright then," he said quietly. "I guess... we'll be out here, then. If you need us." Dean reached into his leather jacket and withdrew the knife Tony had used to kill McGee. It had been wiped clean of blood, but he could practically feel it on the blade when the older Winchester passed it to him.

He bit down on his tongue hard, trying to suppress the wave of emotion that was threatening to overwhelm him. He stuck the knife in a loop of his belt, juggling the items that Castiel had given him before shoving them into the pockets of his jacket. Castiel stared at him. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Tony replied. He stepped forward, following Castiel to the entrance of the dilapidated chapel. He could hear footsteps behind him. He turned to see Ziva following him.

"You think that I am going to let you go in there by yourself?" Ziva asked, crossing her arms as she met his gaze. Tony gave her a sad smile.

"Hey, I've got an angel on my shoulder. I'll be fine."

"Tony."

"Ziva," he said softly. "This is something I need to do alone."

He was about to face Orochi again, and he didn't know how he was going to react, or how this ritual was going to affect him. He didn't even like the idea of Castiel looking over his shoulder, and he barely knew the angel.

Ziva looked like she wanted to protest, but something about the look on his face must have discouraged her. She nodded stiffly before turning her back on him and walking back towards Sam and Dean, who were leaning on the hood of the Impala.

Tony stifled a sigh. _Dean better not hit on her while I'm gone_, he thought distantly before tailing Castiel through the thick front doors of the chapel. Once they stepped inside what appeared to be an entrance hall, the doors slammed shut behind them.

The entrance hall was probably lavish at one point, but no longer. Ancient, broken down tables and chairs marked the sides of the room, while a once-red carpet covered the floor, rendered an ashy color by age. Stained glass windows lined the walls, letting in multicolored light that danced across the eerie scene. It was perfectly melancholy.

"What an excellent day for an exorcism," Tony whispered, unable to help himself. Castiel gave him an odd look, tilting his head. "The Exorcist, 1973." Castiel's face went blank. "Come on, don't angels watch movies?"

"No," Castiel answered shortly as he made his way through the room. He paused at a tattered, curtained off area in the right hand corner of the entrance hall. He turned to look at Tony, pulling the curtain back. "I will wait for you in the sanctuary." He nodded towards the thick set of doors with golden handles on the other end of the room, which presumably led to the sanctuary. Tony blinked in understanding. A confession booth?

"I thought I was righteous?"

"Yes, but your blood will need to be purified of sin before you begin the ritual. Confess your sins unto God, draw the first injection of blood, and then enter the sanctuary. Orochi is waiting there," Castiel said.

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know where to start-"

"Express honest regret for your transgressions," Castiel cut across him, ice blue eyes raking over him. "You do not need to ramble off a list of your mistakes. It is about the feeling more than the thing itself." Castiel paused for a moment. "'_The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much_,'" he quoted. Tony smirked.

"You're kind of like a walking, talking Bible, you know that?"

"I have studied the scripture extensively."

"I suspected," Tony said, passing the angel as he walked into the dusty confession booth. "So it doesn't matter that no one's on the other side?" he asked. He was met by a rustle of wings. When he turned, Castiel was gone. _Freakin' angels. _He sank down onto the rotting wooden bench of the booth, dragging the threadbare curtain back so that he was isolated within.

Where to begin? What to say? Up until he met the Winchesters and Castiel, Tony had been fairly sure that there was no God up above watching over the world. He'd seen too much darkness in his life to believe anything else. But Castiel was an angel of the Lord... meaning that there had to a _Lord_ out there, somewhere. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. Maybe he should just... wing it? He didn't know. He opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped, words catching in his throat. He took a deep breath. _Come on, DiNozzo._

"Um, if you're listening... I've never really tried this whole praying thing before... I guess I should introduce myself," he began, but then decided to go more formal. This was God, after all. He bit the inside of his lip before trying again.

"I am Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo Junior of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, and today, I killed my best friend," he whispered, bowing his head and clasping his hands together. "It was the only thing I could do. It was either I let him kill all of us... or he had to die. I reacted like I was trained to. I weighed the options and chose the most favorable one." He dragged in a shaky breath, mentally urging himself to continue. "I don't know if You will ever forgive me, but I know that I will never forgive myself. If I had done what I was supposed to do, if I had protected them, he would still be alive and Gibbs wouldn't be chained to a chair sitting in the middle of a pentagram right now."

He withdrew the syringe from the box inside of his pocket. "I have done many terrible things. I beg for forgiveness for the lives that I've ended, for the lives I wasn't able to save. But most of all, I pray for forgiveness for what I have just done, and what I am about to do." The words were coming fast now, like a flood allowed to flow free by a bursting dam. He plunged the tip of the needle into the central vein of his right arm, wincing as the pain arced up his forearm. "I pray that I will not have to kill another person I love today," he said, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence. He found that he couldn't speak any longer.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed to whisper as the syringe filled with his blood. "For everything." For a long moment, Tony was silent. All he could hear was the sound of the wind and the waves crashing against the nearby shore. He didn't expect an answer - even a present God was a quiet one, he supposed. Maybe that was the whole point of faith.

He rose slowly, hoping that the genuine regret he'd felt had cleansed his blood enough to work properly. He was sure that Castiel would tell him if it wasn't. He strode out of the confession booth, brushing a few cobwebs to the side as he did so. His footsteps echoed through the empty entrance hall as he stepped up to the doors that divided the antechamber and the main sanctuary. He pried the heavy doors apart and slipped inside, syringe in hand.

The sanctuary was large, the floors and walls both made of stone, though wooden supports stood between tall stained glass windows. They led to rafters about fifteen feet above his head, which supported iron chandeliers that looked a few swings away from falling to the ground. The center of the room had been cleared out, the wooden pews shoved to the side to make room for one large pentagram, a Key of Solomon, he presumed, along with a smaller one directly in front of it.

Within the larger Key of Solomon was Gibbs, the bag on his head removed, his wrists chained to the arm of the chair and his feet shackled to the legs. A stream of blood was leaking down Gibbs faced from where Castiel had bashed his face into the ground earlier. Gibbs smirked at him.

"Long time no see, DiNozzo," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. It didn't sound like Gibbs, even though it came from the older agent's mouth. "You should really get cleaned up. The blood-soaked and beaten look doesn't work on you." Tony glared at the demon, not dignifying him with a response.

Castiel looked up from where he'd been sitting on one of the pews towards the altar, which was still in its place. He rose, eyes landing on the syringe in Tony's hand. "Are you ready to begin?" he asked, and Tony nodded.

It was time.

* * *

_A/N: Just a note, although the ritual is similar to the one in the season eight finale, it is NOT the same. No curing going on here, just an exorcism. The eight hours thing was just used to keep with the motif of eight in the original lore for the Orochi demon (eight heads, eight vats of saki, etc)._


	13. The Hardest Part

**Chapter 12: The Hardest Part**

_A/N: Thank you to all of you who've followed, favorited, and reviewed. The feedback is the fuel for my magical creativity machine. :) Also a big thank you to my beta, Wolfpack pride, who was a huge help with this chapter._

_Disclaimer: Me no own-y the Supernatural or the NCIS. Sad face._

* * *

Ducky set down his scalpel with a heavy sigh. McGee's autopsy was complete. The cause of death was obvious: a stab wound through the heart. The only thing unusual was the fact that McGee's blood had congealed and been reduced to a thick black sludge. He could only assume that it was a side effect of being possessed by Orochi.

He had written up a truthful autopsy report. He decided that he would edit it once he was filled in properly by the rest of the team, when and if they managed to free Jethro from the demon's clutches. He would change the date and times on the autopsy after he had finished correcting it to make it seem somewhat believable to Director Vance. He could only hope that the director didn't decide to visit autopsy before he had a chance to get McGee in a drawer, or he would have quite a bit of explaining to do, and the explanation was not one that Vance would believe.

He began stitching up the Y incision he had made down the young agent's chest, absorbed by his own thoughts. Just as he was finishing, he heard the autopsy doors slide open. He restrained himself from letting out a loud curse as he spun. He had been hoping to avoid visitors in an attempt to keep McGee's sudden death a secret, dimming the lights in autopsy and trying to make it seem as though he wasn't even there. Apparently, his plan to remain inconspicuous had failed.

Abby entered into the frigid room, flicking on the lights as she did so. "Hey, Ducky, have you heard anything from Gibbs? I haven't heard from him since early this morning. Oh, and why are the lights off?" she asked, turning to face him. Her green eyes stuck on the body he was bent over, and they widened significantly.

"Abby, you cannot be here right now."

"Oh my God."

"Abby, please, you-"

She raced forward to get a closer look, and when her gaze found McGee's peaceful and still face, tears flooded her eyes. "No, no, no," she whispered, spinning to face Ducky. The forensic scientist towered over him. "How did this happen!?" she said, her volume rising as two tears traced their way down her cheeks. "He can't... how..." she faltered, squeezing her eyes shut and letting out a harsh sob. **  
**

"Abigail, I will explain, but autopsy is not the place for you right now," Ducky said, trying his best to calm her. "Please. If you wait for me in your lab, I will explain everything once I am done with Timothy."

Abby nodded dimly, her face now streaked with tears. Ducky set a hand on her shoulder. "Okay," she murmured, wiping at her eyes.

"And please, do not tell anyone what you've seen here. As I'm sure you can guess, this involves the demon," Ducky said. Abby nodded again before quickly departing autopsy, not daring to look back at McGee's body. Ducky looked back at the agent's corpse. "She cares for you deeply, Timothy. I was hoping to keep your death from her for a little while longer, but apparently it was not meant to be."

* * *

Tony stared down the demon. How dare this thing inhabit his boss, use his body like some kind of plaything. Anger bubbled inside of him, and he was suddenly glad that he would be able to not only save Gibbs (hopefully) but also kill Orochi. _Two for one deal_, he thought before pacing forward, needle in hand. "Give me your neck," he demanded.

Orochi snorted before leveling a defiant glare at him. "I don't want your filthy blood."

"Cooperating is probably in your best interest right now, considering you're strapped to a chair with zero leverage," Tony replied, eyeing the outside line of the devil's trap. "I can step into this, right?" he asked, directing the question at Castiel, who nodded in affirmation.

"Oh, I may not be able to hurt you physically while you have me trapped in here... but there are so many interesting ways to destroy you just using what's inside this meat suit's head," Orochi said, a malicious smiling curving his lips.

"Don't call him that."

Orochi chuckled. "You humans, you always try so hard to make your lives seem more relevant than they actually are. I've lived a life hundreds of times longer than your pathetic existence... you're _nothing, _kid. Just a bag of organs waiting for the slaughter," the demon drawled.

"Do not let him provoke you," Castiel warned from beside him. "He can use your anger against you."

Tony roughly grabbed the side of his head and forced it to the side, exposing his neck. "Me, angry?" Tony asked, stabbing the syringe into the demon's carotid artery, eliciting a wince and a growl from Orochi. "Never."

"I'll kill you," Orochi spat as Tony depressed the plunger. "I'll rip your innards out and force them down your throat."

"How very cliché of you," Tony retorted, turning his back on Orochi and making his way down the aisle between the pews. "Castiel, I'm not staying in here with that thing. Is the entrance hall still hallowed ground?" he asked.

"Yes," the angel responded, and he followed Tony as they exited the sanctuary.

"I'll be waiting for you, Tony!" Orochi shouted after him, a threat hanging in his voice. Tony suppressed a shiver as the doors shut behind him and Castiel. He sank down on a set of carpeted steps. A tarnished gold sign on the banister read that it led to a prayer room. Castiel sat down on the opposite side of the step, his hands resting on his lap as he stared at Tony.

"You're a fan of eye contact, I guess?" Tony asked, glancing sidelong at the angel.

"Yes. Dean has informed me that it's 'awkward', but I find that it's a difficult habit to break," Castiel responded, deadpan. Tony snorted slightly, leaning back. This was the first chance he'd had to just sit since they'd left NCIS to investigate Lance Corporal Belisarius' death.

His body felt like he'd been hit by a truck. His nose throbbed horribly, and every word he spoke sent a thrill of agony up his jaw, which he was almost positive was fractured. He was also fairly sure that he was concussed, if the fuzzy disorder of his thoughts were any indication.

He rubbed at his face, wincing as his fingers grazed the significant bruising there. He could feel the dried blood on much of the bottom of his face as well. He wondered briefly if Castiel could heal his injuries, but then remembered that the angel needed to conserve his Grace so he could get to Japan and find the Kusunagi. He rose from where he sat, looking around.

"Do you know if this place still has running water?" Tony inquired, looking around for a door that would lead to a bathroom. He spotted a side door by the entrance that looked promising.

"I believe so," Castiel said. Tony nodded, making his way to the restroom. Once inside, he wiped the dust off of a mirror and started the sink. He splashed water on his face, scrubbing gingerly around his nose and mouth to get rid of the blood. He wiped his face off with a paper towel before lifting his head to look at his reflection.

He looked old, a hell of a lot older than forty two. His entire face being a mess of bruises and lacerations didn't help. The thing that caught him the most were his eyes - not the fact that most of the skin around them was black and blue, but that they looked so... empty. He hadn't seen his eyes look like this since Kate died.

He'd promised himself that day that he would never lose another partner, and he'd thought after he, McGee, and Gibbs had rescued Ziva from Somalia, he had succeeded in keeping that promise. After all, he'd crossed the world and fought tooth and nail to get Ziva back. If a massive terrorist organization couldn't break up their team, then what could?

_Demons, apparently, _he thought, clenching the sides of the sink, his grip white-knuckled. If he hadn't seen proof right in front of him, he still wouldn't believe it. Monsters were supposed to stay in closets, under beds, in nightmares - where they belonged.

He withdrew from the sink. Now wasn't the time for this. Once this ritual was over and Orochi was gone, then he'd wallow in the mess of emotions that were clawing at his chest. Or shove them down so far that he couldn't feel them and then drown them in alcohol. The second option certainly seemed more favorable. **  
**

He departed the bathroom and returned to the step, where Castiel was waiting for him, staring into the distance contemplatively. Tony sank down on the step once more, considering the angel. He leaned his head against the banister, closing his eyes. "Talk to me, Castiel. Tell me something. It's hard for me to get words out, right now."

"What do you wish me to talk about?"

"I don't know, anything. You're an angel, you must have some pretty crazy stories, right?" Tony said. "Tell me about you and the Winchesters. How'd you meet them?"

"The demon could require our attention at any moment. It would not be wise to get distracted by conversation."**  
**

"Oh, come on. We've got time," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. Castiel pursed his lips.

"I raised Dean from Hell," he began. Tony blinked. _Hell? I thought he was a good guy? _"He'd been trapped there for the equivalent of forty years. I raised him from Perdition, as he was destined to be the righteous man, the one who would stop the apocalypse..." Castiel paused. "How much of Dean and Sam's current situation are you aware of?"

"Well, you guys mentioned Lucifer and Michael a couple of times when you first showed up. Lucifer, I knew, obviously, but Michael I wasn't so sure of. So, I Googled him. An archangel, set to battle Lucifer in the 'end times'. You said apocalypse, so I put one and two together that you guys are trying to stop Judgment Day," Tony explained.

"That is correct."

"Okay. Keep going."

"When Lucifer originally fell from Heaven, he created the first demon, Lilith, by tormenting a human soul until no humanity remained. God punished him for this by locking him in the Cage, a prison deep within Hell**; i**nescapable, unless sixty-six of the six hundred and sixty-six seals were broken properly. Dean inadvertently broke the first seal, and after that, the demons spent the following year trying to break the other sixty-five. For the first time in hundreds of years, the angels returned to Earth. We'd been in Heaven for a very long time. I was in a garrison of angels, the soldiers sent to fight the demons. When I first took a vessel and walked the Earth in human form, I was... almost mindless. An emotionless drone." **  
**

Tony was tempted to comment on how Castiel still seemed pretty emotionless to him, but decided the effort required to speak wasn't worth it, so he remained silent as the angel continued.

"Meeting Dean... err, the Winchesters," he amended quickly. "It changed me. I began to develop feelings and attachments. The angels were losing the war to stop the seals from being broken open, and things were not going well. Heaven began to doubt my judgment. I was punished severely. When I returned, the last seal was set to open. That was when Sam, Dean, and even I started to realize that the angels in-charge had been dishonest with us."

"They were never trying to stop the apocalypse. They wanted it to happen, so Michael could win and there would be Paradise on Earth, neve**r**mind the billions of human casualties." Tony noticed that Castiel's tone had turned bitter. "We had been manipulated. Dean was spirited away by an angel named Zachariah while Sam was set on Lilith. She was the final seal; killing her would free Lucifer from his Cage. Lilith was also the demon responsible for Dean going to Hell, and Sam had been trying to hunt her down for almost a year and a half. He was thrilled at the chance to finally kill her."

"Dean begged me to help him reach Sam before he killed Lilith, to free him from the temporary prison Zachariah had placed him in. At first, I declined, but then..." Castiel lowered his eyes. "I realized that if I was going to stand for something, I was going to stand for the man who'd never told me a lie. Not for the superiors who attempted to pull the wool over my eyes. I was going to stand for mankind. I betrayed the other angels and fell. I helped Dean escape and took him to the Prophet, the man who knew where Lucifer's Cage was, and where Lilith was. Unfortunately... another archangel, Raphael, sought to stop us from doing so. We found the location and I sent Dean away. I tried to stall Raphael long enough for Dean to stop Sam from breaking the final seal."

Castiel's gaze was distant as he continued. "I failed. We all failed. Dean didn't arrive fast enough to stop Sam. He killed Lilith and set the devil free, and Raphael killed me. This happened five months ago. However, when Lucifer was freed, I was resurrected. I can only assume that it was God. This was when the entire scheme of both Heaven and Hell was revealed. Dean is the archangel Michael's destined vessel, and Sam is Lucifer's. Angels, like demons, need a host, and only certain bloodlines can handle angels. Dean and Sam are the only ones who can be permanent vessels for the two of them. They were the swords that the two of them were going to use to fight the apocalypse and end the world... but there's a condition that must be met."

"Dean and Sam have to give consent for Lucifer and Michael to use their bodies. So far, they have refused to do so. As long as they say no, the apocalypse cannot happen. We are trying to find a way to rid the world of Lucifer without having to resort to Dean and Sam surrendering themselves to the archangels. The amount of human casualties would be astronomical. That is where we're at now."

After a beat of silence, Castiel look at him again, waiting for some reaction. "Wow," Tony said, searching for words that would be appropriate for the story Castiel had just told. Before all of this, he would've never believed such a tale... but now... "That would make a really good movie. Depressing as all hell, but... still good."

* * *

Ziva had been attempting to sleep in the backseat of the Impala since Tony and Castiel had entered the chapel. She had rested her head on the leather seat, pulling the leather jacket that Dean had lent her over herself like a blanket. However, every time she closed her eyes, the events that led them here played in her mind's eye, and she found that sleep was unreachable. She did need to rest, however, so she remained there, a pit of worry for Tony and Gibbs gnawing its way through her stomach.

Family goes beyond blood. That was the lesson she had learned in Somalia. Abandoned by her biological family, it had been McGee, Gibbs, and Tony that had saved her from Saleem and his terrorist cell. The bond they had, it was forged in fire, and it didn't matter that they weren't related. They _were_ family.

She felt like she did after Ari had died. _Was killed_, she corrected herself_. Killed by you_.

The next eight hours would be absolute torture, and she'd been through the real thing. She only wished that she could be in there with Tony, but she understood that this was something that the older agent needed to do by himself - or rather, with only Castiel. Angels were exceptions, she supposed.

Ziva jumped slightly when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She withdrew it, checking the caller ID. She gulped when she saw that it was Abby. She brushed her concern to the side, telling herself not to worry. Surely, Abby hadn't discovered McGee's body... Ducky would have kept her out of autopsy...

"Yes?" she answered the phone, still wary.

"Ziva," Abby said on the other end, and from the broken sound of her voice, Ziva knew in an instant that something was not at all right with her friend. "I..." **  
**

She heard Ducky's subdued Scottish accent in the background, and a moment later, he was talking to her instead. "I am sorry, Ziva. Abigail dropped in on me unexpectedly, she saw... well, I'm sure you can imagine."

"It is alright, Ducky," she said with a small sigh. "It was wrong of us to keep it from her. I just wish that... well, I wish for many things right now."

There was a sound of fumbling, and Abby was back. "Ziva, you've got to promise me something right now," she demanded, a sob breaking her sentence halfway through.

"Abby..."

"Promise me you'll kill the son of a bitch," she growled, acid in every word she spoke. "Promise me that you and Tony will save Gibbs and kill the monster that-" she faltered, and another sob erupted on her end.

Ziva felt tears welling in her own eyes, and she nodded dimly. She knew that making promises she might not be able to keep was unwise, but she wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to live with herself if she didn't follow through.

"I promise, Abby," she whispered. "I promise."

* * *

_A/N: Is that the smell of Castiel/Tony friendship in the air? Perhaps..._


	14. Bleed Black

**Chapter 13: Bleed Black**

_A/N: Yay, update time! As usual, thank you to all of you guys. Seriously, from the bottom of my heart, the feedback means so much. A big thanks as well to my handy-dandy beta, Wolfpack pride, for all her help in making this fic a reality. _

* * *

"Back again so soon?" the demon asked, watching Tony with Gibbs' ice blue eyes as he reentered the sanctuary, Castiel flanking him. Tony didn't dignify the demon with a response. He stopped cold just a few inches outside of the devil's trap, hand digging in his pocket for the second of the eight syringes. With a wince and a thrill of unease, he slid it into his vein, withdrawing another vial of blood from himself.

Once the syringe was full with dark red liquid, he stepped into the devil's trap, making sure that he didn't smudge the spray-painted lines with his shoes. "Neck. Now," he demanded, not wanting to risk touching the demon again. Castiel had warned him before coming in that if Orochi bit him, he wouldn't be able to complete the ritual, and they would be up shit creek without a paddle. Okay, maybe he was paraphrasing a little, but still; he had to be careful.

"He's screaming in here," the demon told him abruptly, a thin smirk forming on his lips. "Screaming and scratching, but he can't get out. It's hilarious."

"He's not screaming," Tony answered in a monotone. "He's waiting in there, silently fuming that he's not the one who gets the privilege of chopping you into itty bitty pieces... and when I get you the hell out of him, he'll probably head-slap me for saying that." It helped him to pretend that no matter what, things were going to be okay, to try not to think about all the things that could go wrong.

The demon blinked, and Gibbs' eyes were replaced by two black orbs. "You sound awfully sure of yourself, Tony. You're going to be disappointed when I break out of here and teach you what your own intestines taste like."

In an instant, Castiel was directly behind Orochi. He grabbed a fistful of silver hair and wrenched his head sideways. Tony took the opening and shoved the needle into his carotid, depressing the plunger. As soon as the syringe was empty of blood, he pulled back, and Castiel released the demon, who was writhing in his chair.

"Does my blood hurt him?" Tony asked. If it hurt Orochi - all the better. If it hurt Gibbs too, well... he didn't really want to think about that.

"Yes. It most likely feels like there is acid pouring through his veins at this particular moment," Castiel responded flatly. "I assume that you are more concerned about whether it's affecting Gibbs."

"That would be a yes."

"I'm not sure," the angel told him honestly. Tony sighed as he turned his back on Orochi and made his way towards the door again.

"It hurts him!" Orochi shouted, and Tony stopped dead in his tracks. "Burns him just like it burns me. He feels like his blood is on fire, like he's burning from the inside out-"

There was a hand on his shoulder, and he heard no more of the demon's words, as when he blinked he was on the carpeted staircase again, Castiel standing next to him. Tony raised an eyebrow at him. "Someone's in a teleport-y type mood." Although he didn't say it, he was silently grateful that Castiel had gotten him out of the sanctuary before he'd done something he regretted. "I don't get it, do you fly? Or just zap around with your angel magic, or something?"

"My wings cannot manifest in their entirety on Earth," Castiel said. "But yes, I do fly." Tony looked at Castiel's trench coat covered shoulders.

"So that's why you don't have wings? Because they can't manifest properly?"

"Yes," he said. "My wings are only visible when I take my true form, which cannot be perceived by demons or humans."

"What, do you turn invisible in your true form?" he asked, sinking down onto the steps once more. Castiel followed suit.

"No," he said. "Seeing the true form of an angel kills demons and burns out the eyes of humans, except in very special circumstances." Castiel shifted slightly, as if he was guilty about something.

"Don't tell me you burned out some poor bastard's eyes."

"She was a psychic. She tried to contact me... it was before I'd taken my vessel. I tried to warn her away, but she persisted." The angel frowned. "She lost her sight as a result."

"Well... that _really _sucks," Tony responded, leaning back against the next step. He didn't allow his eyes to close, no matter how much they wanted to. "Have you got enough juice to head over to the land of the rising sun, yet?"

Castiel's frown persisted, and his eyes lowered. "No. My Grace is recovering slower than usual."

"Is that a side effect of being a fallen angel?" he asked. Castiel nodded.

"Yes. I can only imagine that I will eventually weaken to the point that..." He pursed his lips. "That I will no longer have any of my abilities."

"What if you guys stop the apocalypse? Would you be able to get back into the heavenly fold?"

"That's not likely, no. As I mentioned before, the angels want the apocalypse to happen just as badly as Lucifer and the legions of Hell," Castiel explained in a monotone. Tony blinked. So the angel had really given up everything for the Winchesters? The self-sacrifice was admirable. It sounded like the two brothers barely stood a chance against Armageddon even with Castiel in tow. He couldn't think of where they'd be without him.

"You're a brave guy, Castiel," Tony told him honestly.

Castiel didn't say anything in response, but something about the angel's eyes told him that the comment had hit home.

* * *

Sam handed Ziva a sawed-off shotgun and a flask of holy water, along with an anti-possession necklace. She juggled the objects for a moment. She stuck the sawed-off in the holster she'd put on a moment before, pocketed the flask, then threw the necklace over her head. The charm joined the star of David around her neck.

"Okay, I'll be back in twenty minutes," Sam said. They had decided since the three of them hadn't eaten in quite awhile, they might as well get some food while they waited out the ritual, which was well into its second hour at this point. "Be careful."

"Relax, Sammy," Dean said, placing a hand on the butt of his own sawed-off. "We'll be fine. And don't forget my pie this time."

Sam sighed. "I won't."

"Good. Be careful," Dean said as his little brother ducked down into the Impala, seating himself in the driver's seat. Sam tossed them a two finger wave before pulling out of the chapel's parking lot.

Dean watched his brother drive down the dusty rural road that led along the coast until the Impala disappeared into the dark clouds of the oncoming storm. Dean ran an absent-minded hand through his hair. He didn't seem thrilled by the fact that his little brother was heading off alone, and the two of them had argued before Dean had finally acquiesced and allowed the younger Winchester to go on the food run solo. Dean turned to glance at her. "You want to go for a walk?" he asked abruptly.

Ziva gave him an appraising look. "It does not seem like a good idea to leave..."

"Just along the shore. I just want some fresh sea air, you know?" Dean shrugged his shoulders, trying to seem indifferent, but Ziva could tell that this was something the hunter needed.

"Alright," she agreed. "But we keep the church in sight."

"Okay."

The two of them made their way across the empty road and down to the beach. It was difficult to walk in her heels, as she was still in her undercover outfit from the night before, so she shed them, tossing them without a thought back towards the church. They arced over the road and landed in the parking lot.

"Nice throw," Dean complimented. "You seem like a pretty tough chick."

"I do not know what baby chickens have to do with it, but thank you. I think."

Dean smirked. "That's something Cas would say. He's not too good with idioms." **  
**

"They frustrate me. Tony and McGee are always correcting me..." she trailed off, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach distracting her. Anytime she thought of McGee, she felt like she was going to be sick.

Dean watched her for a moment as they made their way down to the waves. There was a large sandstone rock embedded in the sand. Dean sank down onto it, and he patted the space next to him, indicating for Ziva to sit. She did so, her eyes watching the waves intently.

"I know what it's like," Dean blurted out. Ziva turned to him, giving him a questioning look. "Seeing someone you care about possessed," Dean clarified. "My father, Sam, my friend Bobby - I've had to see all three of them possessed by a black-eyed bastard at some point. It's..." He shrugged, looking away. "One of the worst things I've ever seen, and I've seen some pretty horrific shit." He paused. "Sam was possessed for over a week before we exorcised him. Did some terrible stuff."

Ziva opened her mouth, fumbling for the proper words before giving up. "I do not know what to say."

"I guess what I'm saying is... listen, I know it's not going to make a crap bit of difference, but I'm sorry this happened," Dean told her honestly.

Ziva bit the inside of her lip, tugging Dean's leather jacket, which she'd been using as a blanket earlier, tighter around her as a strong breeze came in from the waves. "It is not your fault. It isn't anybody's fault, even if I know Tony would disagree."

"He did what he had to do," Dean replied. "He didn't do anything wrong."

"I know that. I am sure he does not, though," she told him. She rested her chin on her hand, staring at the waves beating mercilessly again the shore. Thunder sounded in the distance.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Dean said. It wasn't a demand; it was request. She thought about declining, but right now, she needed someone to talk to. Dean had seen things like this before, terrible things. Reluctant as she was to share anything with a man she'd just met the day before, he would understand this better than anyone.

"Everything is falling apart," she began. "McGee is gone, Gibbs is possessed by a demon strong enough to destroy the entire world as we know it... and Tony, well, I do not even know. And sitting here, doing nothing? It is killing me." She swallowed, trying to control the emotion rising in her chest.

"I'd lie to you and say that things are going to be okay, but the fact is, they probably _aren't_ gonna be okay." Dean's voice was gentle as he said this. "The best we can do right now is hope that Tony can pull this off, and that there will still be something left of Gibbs when everything's said and done. All we can do right now is wait."

"They are my family," she whispered. "McGee, Tony, Gibbs... they are everything to me."

Dean nodded. "I know the feeling. Sammy, Cas, and Bobby are all I have."

"If you had been in Tony's position, would you have done it?" she asked suddenly, turning her gaze to meet Dean's bright green eyes. "Would you have been able to kill one of them? Would you have been able to look Sam in the eye and end his life?"

Dean ducked his head, seeming to think for a long moment. "...I couldn't," he said finally, with a slight shake of his head. "I really don't think that I could. And that's probably the only reason I didn't deck DiNozzo the minute we were out of that shelter for hesitating. Because I wouldn't have been able to do what he did. Hell, I might have just stood there and done nothing at all and got all of us killed." He swallowed. "Sam's my blind spot, I guess."

She didn't find it comforting that Tony was capable of something that even a hardened hunter like Dean wouldn't have been able to do. She felt tears burning in her eyes, and she privately cursed herself for losing grip of herself like this. She angrily swiped at her eyes. She swore softly in Hebrew.

"Hey," Dean said, lightly grabbing her wrist. "It's okay. You've been through hell the past couple hours, and trust me, I would know."

Ziva reluctantly let the tears fall from her eyes, and she felt Dean's arm around her shoulder. Usually, she wouldn't appreciate the affection, but something about the hunter made her feel safe. She leaned against his shoulder, and she let out the emotion she'd been struggling to keep back all day.

They sat there for a long time, waiting for Sam to get back. She cried until she felt a small sense of relief. Her eyes were dry and scratchy, and she felt embarrassed by the display, but she was relieved that at least Tony hadn't seen her like this. He didn't need that on top of what he was carrying around.

She was about to say that they should head back to the chapel before Sam arrived, but before she could, the flutters of wings behind them caused the two of them to jump. They both immediately sprang to their feet.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I interrupt something?"

The man was tall and balding, with beady eyes and a lip that seemed to be permanently curled in disdain. He wore an expensive suit, and had his hands clasped behind his back.

"Zachariah," Dean growled.

"Long time no see, Dean. I can honestly say I'm surprised. I came here expecting to find Orochi, and I find you..." His eyes wandered to Ziva. "And whoever this lovely creature is."

"Cut the crap, douche bag," Dean responded, taking out his sawed-off and pointing it at Zachariah's head. Ziva was confused - this man couldn't be angel, could he? "What do you want?"

"Other than the usual?" The man cocked his head. "Well, I want Orochi dead, but from what I could sense inside the chapel, you've already got that handled. Nice job capturing it, by the way. What I want _now_ is information."

"And what the hell makes you think I'm going to tell you anything?" Dean growled. Zachariah rolled his eyes.

"Put the gun down and calm yourself."

"I don't care that you're an angel, I will still fill you so full of rock-salt that you'll be shitting margaritas," Dean countered. **  
**

"_You_ are an angel?" Ziva asked. She had assumed that all angels would be like Castiel. Stiff. Deadpan. An eerie, piercing gaze.

"Guilty as charged," Zachariah responded offhandedly, his eyes sliding over Ziva. "Dragging along a new posse now, Dean? Hopefully she and the one doing the ritual last longer than the friends you brought with you on your last suicide mission-"

"You son of a bitch, don't you _dare_ bring them into this," Dean warned, rage flashing in his eyes. Ziva wondered who his last friends were, and if the Winchesters had a habit of getting the people they associated with killed. "How the hell do you even know about that?"

"The little shindig in Carthage? Yes, we know all about that. You're the Michael Sword, Dean. Lucifer keeps an eye on Sam, we keep an eye on you... at least as best as we can with those sigils that Castiel had the foresight to put on you and your brother," Zachariah explained with an air of irritation. "But I'm not here to rub in your face your pathetic attempts to stop the apocalypse - A gun kills the devil? Come on now - I'm here to find out who's behind Orochi being dragged up from Hell."

"We're more worried about stopping him than who summoned him," Dean ground out. Ziva remained silent. She had no intentions of putting forth the information that Irena and possibly the King of the Crossroads Dean and Sam mentioned were the ones responsible for Orochi's reappearance on Earth.

"Don't play cute with me, boy," Zachariah said sharply. "Orochi is an A-list demon. Someone big is behind this, and I'd bet my wings that you three know whom."

"Why? Why do you and all the other dicks upstairs even care?"

"Dean," Ziva said quietly. "Perhaps it is not wise to call angels 'dicks'."

"Listen to the lady," Zachariah said, eyes glinting dangerously. "Or do you want a repeat of when I gave you stage four stomach cancer?" Ziva had a feeling he wasn't kidding.

"I'm not telling you anything, so you might as well leave now," Dean said, squaring his shoulders and glaring at the angel defiantly.

"I'm going to give you..." He paused, thinking for a moment. "Ten seconds to reevaluate that decision."

"You can give me ten years for all I care. Answer's still no."**  
**

Zachariah shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn you." A second later, Dean collapsed to the ground, clutching at his stomach. The hunter coughed, and blood spattered out on the sand. Ziva went to her knees next to him, putting a hand on his back. She looked up at Zachariah, panicked. What had the angel done?

"What did you do to him?"

"A nasty mix of Marburg hemorrhagic fever and irritable bowel syndrome," he replied nonchalantly before stooping down and fisting his hand in Dean's hair, forcing his head up. "Now, how about you dish before you start bleeding out of every orifice? And I do mean _every_."


End file.
